Construction of the Museum In the hole we found beside the road something would eventually go Names we saw spelled backward there In the sand we found a tablet In the hole caused by bombs which are smart we might find a hand It is the writing hand hand which dreams a hole to the left and the right of each hand The hand is called day-inside-night because of the colored fragments which it holds We never say the word desert nor does the sand pass through the fingers of this hand we forget is ours We might say, Memory has made its selection, and think of the body now as an altered body framed by flaming wells or walls What a noise the words make writing themselves by Michael Palmer - Madman with Broom
Posted on: Wed, 21 Aug 2013 07:28:02 +0000
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