Fragments from October 2017

Fragment 1:
It is the fear of death that drives
me to squeeze the ink out of this pen;
otherwise, I would not be here
writing in a crowded coffee shop.
(It is very unusual for a man to die
in a coffee shop.)
I’ve been coming here to write
as often as I can.
The waitress knows my name.

Fragment 2:
The first sentence I ever wrote
(without being told to write)
was a secret and a silent declaration
in blue.
A childish sentence on a piece of paper
composed of three words.
I hid it under the mattress.
I was thirteen or fourteen years old.

Why I wrote “I love N—-”
on that silly piece of paper
with a fountain pen
I must go back in time to find out.



What do you think?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s