after Ohran Pamuk
Everything just rushes by me now.
There are no longer the ritual pauses:
when I held a cigarette between two fingers,
I could hold Time itself.
I could pluck two stills
from the hurried film of my day –
one of what had just happened,
and the other of what might come next –
and I could stand, quietly alone
between those two frames,
holding time still in my hand,
and just look, and think, and smoke.
Jul 19, 2017
Jul 19, 2017 at 6:11 PM UTC
after Ohran Pamuk
Everything just rushes by me now.
There are no longer the ritual pauses:
when I held a cigarette between two fingers,
I could hold Time itself.
I could pluck two stills
from the hurried film of my day –
one of what had just happened,
and the other of what might come next –
and I could stand, quietly alone
between those two frames,
holding time still in my hand,
and just look, and think, and smoke.
see the visual poem at
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AJ795PG_v-0
Poetmonger
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