Friday, April 29, 2016


Poseidón atisba, en un estado extracorpóreo transitorio, a distancia, su momento solitario de desintegración. Un nunca jamás convertido en érase una vez.


Pandora, desilusionada una vez más, imagina su ánfora casi vacía hundiéndose lentamente en las azules profundidades.

Observa a Poseidón goteando allí mismo desde su propia fuente ornamental, pequeña, triste.

Thursday, February 25, 2016


For sepia Turner and Empires of fading Fighting Temeraires

Floating just

Tugged out of gold leaf frames on yellowing Edwardian wallpaper

For a generation who hoped against hope she would never sink

Black coal smoke

I don’t want to live there dark is the night

But neither the daylight sits quite right

It seems I’m swaying on my last legs

And I have gulped down to the last dregs

They read me no future


The twisted synapse holds no memorandum

That explains the twisted geometry of DNA

Or the twisted geodesics of the universe

Or the soaking mechanics of the Theatre of Memory

The grating chemistry of these last thoughts on it all

Nor does it explain the living sublime twisted scale of it all

Step back

Step back

They read me no future

The twisted synapse holds no memorandum


I am gone

The image “The Mechanics of the Sea” © David F. Brandon, 2016