memory interrupt
found poem
born of a metro stub
Moscow underground

nestled in page 82
a Guide to Oriental Carpets
or perhaps was it
Fodor’s Spanish Idioms
unleashes the hologram
that gray afternoon
two hundred moons ago
stealing away from the tourgroup
during personal hotel relax time
deliciously impersonating
a streetwise passerby
on an elegant train car
lovely spacious arched platforms
warm classical music
        the Russians more cultivated than us
        wear their suffering more regally
        yet more brutal too
        the charm of what they not yet quite are

two maybe three stops
buying a blini
then back to what’s prescribed
enjoying manufactured freedom
in hasty reverse
to the orderly safety
all this splendor —
of past riches —
because time for another purging
of books and of trinkets
accumulated yet another decade
some to be gifted away now
some tossed, some promoted
I, curator for a day
to make anew a zen space
in my contemplative basement burrow
      as if I’ve any semblance
      of aimful direction
      over this parading
      onslaught of thoughts…

            as if my consciousness
            were not really
            ten million million
            unruly wayward bookmarks



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