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reflections on belonging

a palmers chronicle right bw

Graphic Novels

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poetry can’t replace
the body’s sensual intimacy
and yellow blossoms swallowed
in the blink of an eye

Poems from the book “The Iron Weathervane”

Photo by Benediktas Januševičius
Nature knows no zero.
It’s just a hole in our time
Through which the cold continuously flows
Together with loneliness and fear.

Photo by Severina Venckutė
                    This is where
the world’s rusty wheels moan,
exuding the scents of burnt oil,
gunpowder, blood, and musk.

Photo by Benediktas Januševičius
You are, are, and are. One. One from infinity,
from an infinity of possibilities. An infinity of possibilities not to be.

Photo by Regimantas Tamošaitis
but no – he’s still functioning:
marching through the desert
cursing out Duracell
with his last words

Photo by Gintarė Gustainytė
and finally there’d be
a merging of our souls, we’d live long happy lives,
run around in one small circle, die amicably, holding
paws, having treated ourselves to the same ratpoisonoflife.

Photo by M. Penkutė
It took so long for me to hear
the hum of blood under my skin:
I understood the words of that song.

I like ambivalent weather best –
neither sun, nor rain, nor cold, nor heat.
Just these clouds. Gray cumuli.
And one cup of coffee in the morning.

Photo by Vladas Braziūnas
then the knight, steed, dragon, peaks and moon
all shouted – harum harum –
and began to dance

Photo by Gediminas Sadauskas
i’m moving in directions unknown. not all the tracts in these latitudes are passable. check-points, shakedowns, bribes. usually i just play dumb. now the border guards are patting down Dante.

you’re not reading a poem, it’s just how
I journalistically transmit that which
the gentle turbines of the dryer
churn out from my memory



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