On
the Aesthetics of Forgetfulness
(or
how it sums up after a 3rd Margarita)
The
wall stood
proud
and silent as a stone
coherent
in
time
As
far as I know it was there
layer
with layer, holding the strength
of
history and morphology – trees
and
earth bathing each other
moving
slowly as
lovers
-
since
the beginning
and
we drank
their
geometry, a wise structure performing
angularities
Then,
one day, a part of the wall
came
down
As
I lick the junction between
the
nail of my
ring
finger
and
the
tiny fleshless band
at
its base
waiting
for skin
to
grow
rebuilding
memory patterns
I
realize the gap
has
been replaced with
hideous
cement
blocks
©
José Coelho, 2015
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