Smell and weight of the limousine | so slowly acquired | a monument to put our moments | gliding | through traffic | dusk and the rush | hour a retarded pell mell | the lemming bias of humanity | an ocean in a cask… | Mama with the pearls and heat, Papa with whiskers and Karelias | strolling through our mansion hours | white Carrara overhead | underfoot | a pillar and portico | stone purpose | even in the humid air | of high summer | a ponderous cool | depositing through stealth | a mineral power | in the palm trees permanence | in the ether | reside | Cracked open | like a luscious egg | the value of all the signs | set floating | Grief a while | felt strong | our tears were forts | but they soon fell | to the bailiffs’ orders | Ignorance passed | and with it | innocence | Among the slaves | expulsion | the passing on | of secluded gardens | cast out into belonging | our indifference thrown | from different heights | down to true indifference | the sea not wanting its waves | but calling them back | not wanting its waves | but calling them…

Ruin ruined | and injustice shared | We were sent, as we deserved, into the country | to labour and | to struggle | In a nightly | cocoon of sleep | changing | no butterfly | though | ever emerging | because we were doomed | to wake | and not see through | the process of transformation | Marooned in daylight | sometimes my thoughts | went back to the capital | and the old life there | Silver bombers came | irregulars | fought across the graves | sometimes for weeks | to take a snatch of land | to own and to hold | Battles | of mindless gorge | bodies trampled | to mulch | We fled | the system | When assassins came | we escaped by | lying among the dead | pretending to be like them

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from the series fleeting pixel (series of 1,000 poems, 2012–2016)

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