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Nov 2020
a gramophone set on a plaque
spins an entangled equinox of sound
stirring the empty white room
where drifting comet paintbrush strokes
splash from palette
onto the canvas
filling pencil sketched stencil outlines.

behind the blank stare
a melting box of crayons
leak into the canyon pocket of the rotten
rusty mind's trapdoor opening
dripping in a kaleidoscopic waterfall curtain
of a rainbow explosion.

thousands of fragments
float in a broken magnetic field
unable to link into the cutout space
created by the lost curator
inside that blank gallery
where the erosion of the memory bank valley
fills with silt and debris.

photographs held in place
by safety pins and sticky tape
dissipate into a foggy dusk
where faces are bleached
unraveling into distant
smudged post-stamp silhouettes.

bitter pills dissolve with yogurt
in halls where caretakers lift the lid
exposing an echo ringing uncertain
as diluted voices
sing hollow songs
under a needle pin in the distance.

withered flower petals fall
landing on a riddle filled diary
set on top of a dusty nightstand
while the ticking grandfather clock
strikes another hour
bringing the end of the final chapter
ever closer.
Rob Cohen
Written by
Rob Cohen  30/M/Cape Town
(30/M/Cape Town)   
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