only imagine the place
closed. it is colder this morning.

mrs ciano to be removed, one
part back to the museum, the

other packed and ready to go,
back, whence. she came from
an imagination, all bloodied
bandages,  hymned words.

in two parts, splinter time.

google her  remains.

the curator moves
on.

mrs ciano.

sbm.

Miss Ciano you didn't do so well
Perhaps you can help us with this cloud?
We have to tame it Miss Ciano,
Go to the mountain and immerse ourselves
Let the thunder out and let it pass

Death is all part of life Miss Ciano
The last bit
You know that
You can always sit and watch the sea
If we went to Conwy we would see the sea
In Conwy
I do enjoy your daily offerings

i have been anxious for her,
add one small boy, out
on their own. big houses
make good companions,

yet, when all are gone,
only notes remain, who
will talk to mrs ciano.

understand the anxieties.

it has been said ,

” the mind of mrs. ciano cannot be packed away,”

truth in paralells runs this way.

she does not have a label.

sbm.

(quote, note* Andrew Bellon )

only imagine the place
closed. it is colder this morning.

mrs ciano to be removed, one
part back to the museum, the

other packed and ready to go,
back, whence. she came from
an imagination, all bloodied
bandages,  hymned words.

in two parts, splinter time.

google her  remains.

the curator moves
on.

mrs ciano.

sbm.

only imagine the place
closed. it is colder this morning.

mrs ciano to be removed, one
part back to the museum, the

other packed and ready to go,
back, whence. she came from
an imagination, all bloodied
bandages,  hymned words.

in two parts, splinter time.

google her  remains.

the curator moves
on.

mrs ciano.

sbm.

in the store room with the robes,

boxed, marked robes. some people

don’t like labels, although  it is the source,

a holding.



installed, the lady called her wierd, name calling.



the paper, the pins.



i call her mrs ciano, pleased to see her

again.



we talk, and she is company.



sbm.

who so mrs ciano ?



are you blest, is this

how to say your name?



ask the curator, learn

another world, where

not all is at it seems.



it is just an opinion.



they took the paper, the cotton

away.



©sbm.

was at the national library of wales,

you know, that big building in aberystwyth,

just after bow street. they have a red carpet on the stairs,

men standing at the base, to guard, to help you.

tie the books in cases, stare at the black book  again.

mrs ciano is labelled, and no one looks at her.

there is a castle here, though no one thinks so.

sbm.

who so mrs ciano ?



are you blest, is this

how to say your name?



ask the curator, learn

another world, where

not all is at it seems.



it is just an opinion.



they took the paper, the cotton

away.



sbm.

they moved her,  you know, from the trolly

to a plinth .not sure whether to be honored,

stayed  still with glass,    bandages

were bloodied.



a message came, choked on tears,

sobbing rose. that one should

notice her.



mrs ciano received a message.

sbm.

she as been away a while
i told you. probably with
the robes, boxed in time.

i spoke to you of her,
told you she was mine.
it was accepted.

she will be found, put
into exhibition , the academy.

art and the book,
mrs ciano.

sbm.

mrs ciano is home, well one of them.

some could say this is a forgery, yet

she was invited, mrs ciano is multiplied,

the answer is clear, may the fourth be

with you today.

we will empty the basket, put our things

back in place. mrs ciano is at home,

today.

sbm.

http://mrs-ciano.weebly.com/

most of it was found,
yet i waxed, tied the books,
shredded cloth to rags,
bled a little.

arranged it all my way,
dismantled ,packed,
sent to the curator.

who installed it his way,
added the metal trolley,
i have coveted so long.
it all feels rather biblical.

sbm.

has mostly left the building.

one imagines packed
in sellophane,  other
sundry packings, boxed
for transporation, waiting

a collection. alongside
the robes, trollies, and

coffee making services.

she is a small thing,

accompanied by other things.

sbm.

mrs ciano never had hair
we do not mention it to
her

she has a sensitive soul
multiple personalities

go google
mrs ciano



.mrs ciano’s blog.

will not do, really,
it may have to be wood,
from ikea
after all.

he made do with cardboard
boxes, sticky tape
for sound,
another room.

i have news of mrs ciano,
looking well, in the old hotel.

i cannot get there
to see her.

history.

sbm.

the night draws round,and while the lights
are out we wander in the gloom,
wondering.

why was the work on censorship, censored,
why
was mrs ciano rejected?

why do people be angry. make choices.

yes sir you may buy the ring, for a
thousand pounds, or choose to save
someones life.

sbm.

at sea, it is a squall. i watched

a programme all about dream fish.

we need none.

we have dreamed a while, made a little

garden house, while mrs ciano is safe indooors.

cosy, she is by the old books

of course.

where else would she be,

still the rain pours, a draught

at the window.

sbm.

lave bem teus cabelos e encha uma caneca com um excelente pó de café ou em grãos.
selecione um bom hidratante e conheça cada centímetro de pele do teu corpo.
acenda um cigarro, dê um trago e depois jogue-o fora, se assim preferir.
tire uma foto de algo ou alguém que amas muito. depois emoldure e pendure numa parede bonita. talvez em tons de ciano ou magenta.
olhe bem pro céu. se for chuva calce uma bota, se for sol ande descalço. ou vice-versa.
pense no que gostaria de almoçar hoje.
prepare uma refeição com as próprias mãos que supere suas expectativas.
talvez alho e pimenta. ou quem sabe só um pouco de sal.
tente sorrir agora e se não conseguir tudo bem. faça outra tentativa mais tarde.
respire devagarinho.
pense em todas as nuvens do mundo.
diga que se ama apesar de tudo.