Wednesday, August 31, 2011


Is the flammability
Measuring the shadows in the distance
Far away and over the shoulder
Etched in the skulls
Humiliated in silence as well as movement
Backwards against the sunlight
Twisted torso
Wringing out remembrance
Places visited grinding in the
Garbage disposal
Disposed of and soiled
with greased response

Wanted are the places
Captured in pictures
Rimpled by wind
Focus disappearing to the
backs of heads
leaning against others
who rifle
through it

Dust are the embers
Disease and the aging arms
wave stringed instruments into
a navigation across subtle melancholy
groaning and clearing this throat
clearing this window sill
stuffed with uneven sheets of glass
uneven composure
insufficient and prolonged
across the sill
impaled and treated
for another term

Legs and teeth
Dogs swirling barking
In the corners of fences
Dark wooden fences
Arid fences throb
With dust slurping
Faces hurrying by

Dust are the embers
Where are the places?
the lonely spots

Dust are the embers
setting it all
as a deep torch to welcome
the next rows and rows
into the ovens
scraping off ashes
with blades of sighing
devised coughs the only continuing

- Max Stoltenberg

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