Transient Nostalgia

Volume 8, Issue 01
September 23, 2022

it flickers like 16mm film.

in cavernous silence,
dappled moonbeams ricochet through space.

the cacophony of a thousand velveteen collisions.
a solid wall of twilight fog


they can be nothing other than a singularity or

a speeding needle once fired from that infinite gilded surface,
and deflected by a pocked silver shield.

theirs is a quest to adorn my patchwork soul.
imperceptible holes that will later fray


like the shiny plastic
pretensions of small talk when silence would suffice.

like the frequent eye flittings, up and back so quickly.
And then down, down, down -

straight down.


in that spike of contact

and dread for the moment it ends,
left alone in a room.

making conversation with your own interpretations.
ambiguous and uncertain,

childish, even.

but perhaps also intuitive … and nosy -
fighting gravity like water flows up though plants.

subverting all attempts at control.
It is light leaking, spilling, and then pouring

a hot tungsten filament dissipating the indefinite midnight tendrils of subconscious


only to vanish.

but not left empty,
because the chamber expands still.

it is an elastic lung oxygenated with warm breath,
a mental chamber lethargically pulsating with red-orange heat


the carbon lattice hums with light,
a gentle, and perfectly intricate ember

the only one of its kind.