zondag 20 december 2015

half a sonnet

How far had I to read to reach the second half.
One phrase. That thing you said. Something said and misunderstood.
Lower you said. Higher it meant. At least during the second half.
Getting close bones and blood exploded from the picture.
Memory took it from boyhood
and Hitler-Jugend exploring the said and unsaid. Curves spent
in a brothel,
lower she said and lower it meant, at least during half a second.
It had a mixture of something very old, stone age avant-garde, and a new brand of the same thing.

Especially now, late autumn, streets and market places have the leisure of burnt books.
Here /points a map/ are some of the places where she and Leonard met.
Most other people are gone now or sit in front of television.

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