MUSEUM DAYS

A terrific ice storm of intense magnitude swept up.

We set out my boy and I lurching forwards and back on rails to make connections between

Old haunts – distant memories appear on streets where failing eyes give just a mirage and semaphore signals on the horizon are like so many wind farms.

Out the back a slowly decomposing rat with clenched claws the size of a baby’s fist

She said, probably dumped overnight by foxes they treat our garden like

It was their own. Watching an old film most of the people in it

Must be dead.  city of somebody else’s memories, anterior rituals wake

your life flashing; hand held instant melancholia. 

Dull righteousness flaming in the land, practices that drown out excitement put out fires.