Bricolage

Bricolage

(7/7/2011)

Because
You remind me of different things
The darker corners in a Caravaggio painting
The warmth of the moon on early February evenings
The lo-fi violin strings and vocal phrasings
Emanating from a Billie Holiday recording
The taste of lost languages
The delicate creases of dried tulips
My first reading of Dead Stars
The gravitational pull of black holes
And the inevitable implosion
Looped coffee shop conversations
About how the book was way better
Than the movie adaptation
Threadbare handwritten letters
With its nervous grammatical errors
Locked away in unfamiliar drawers
A box of broken colours
Splinters of glass
From fractured bathroom mirrors
Grace of a butterfly knife
The space in vacated apartments
This poem, fragments.