Renato N. Mascardo
life of quiet desperation
gone by in time
like a thieving nutmeg that spoils and spreads
the eldering crawls unentreatably in spurts
the buon fresco of the past up in the ceiling of my mind
its plaster having brittled and flaked
has let loose the painted fractals of what i was
down a swart and endless void
the tense pluriperfect no longer holds for me
even the simple past begins to go
i hear the soundless brittle brattle of fragments of what had been
falling slowly and fast away
leaving the remnant of my self
alone in the stark wilderness of my mind//
renato
friday 02 january 2015
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