Non-Image


I am suddenly aware
of everything left behind--
hotel crinkle-cup,
blue jacket on bus,
silver charm in cemetery,
bag of hobo recipes, bowie knives and hats,
cassette tape roller coaster,
a ticket-shot-necklace dream,
arms locked,
the passing, intimate space
the passing, personal movement,
of place between place. 

I don’t know what’s next.

That endless catastrophe of words
the sadness of image
each gesture, each form,
exists as image—a record of eventual loss. 

Such a ridiculous thing, this fondness--
                                                                 portal to ruin.

 

 

-Ren Adams, 2015

 

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