Memories of Carpathia

Wild beasts that circled the camps of infidels.
The disgusted noises of old men chomping on bones.
The sight of a fat butler surging through bulrushes.
The way that horses and mountains merged one into another.
An empty chair in every shaded room.
Anarchist manifestos fluttering from the mastheads of battleships.
A spring marriage between shadow and ignominy.
Redhaired women tearing up the notes of a sad composer.
Under the olive trees, a rhythm of slow mediocrity.
Each day in disordered fragments and half-measures.
An effervescence of bridal gowns bubbling in hot springs.
The elegance of lizards basking on dinner tables.
Turbulence in a lake of shattered stars.
Nuns gathering like starlings to watch the sunset.
Curious mannerisms of the railway engineers.
The sporting of whiskers by dramatic widows.
Tealeaves displaying their prophecies in every café.
The dogs agitated by passionate dreams.
How the snow fell, and fell more,
muffling the Carpathians in their own silences.

Philip Kane

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~ by londonsurrealistgroup on April 8, 2011.

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