poetry = nonsense
nonsense = meaninglessness
meaninglessness = void
void = nothingness
nothingness = spirit

Little Mao
there was a place I used to frequent a house buzzing with exciting things, and music and beautiful girls, each of which carried a story I think I used to trade in secrets in those days somehow, I completely forgot about this place about the life I led then last night I found myself there once more -- centuries have passed it was all different. all the girls I’d known my lovers, gone it was an early morning and the place in ruins filled with decadence, smoke, drunks and homelessness in a corner I saw a sad old dog I recognised her instantly I kneeled to pet her and she looked at me timidly with deeply blue eyes. celeste, in fact next to her was a pad, somewhat furry inscribed with a series of formulas and an incantation there was also a figurine of Little Mao the math described how, and the incantation why Little Mao had destroyed an entire planet he was well recognised in certain circles and she kept that story I said to her: “You once told me this story I had understood the meaning, but by now I have forgotten. would you tell me again?” we had been intimate but she had not been particularly significant to me. not, apparently, as significant as I had been to her. I guess in those days I was the shit. this place might even have been my house it was a little while before she revealed herself to me in the shape I knew her she had grown substantially older than me when I knew her she was very young wispy and beautiful I asked her why she was still there. she said she had continued to come back hoping against all hope to see me again she knew why I had vanished and that one day I would remember and come back it had become her life’s mission to deliver to me her story again it was important to me I had a role to play I suddenly longed to kiss her but not her, her younger self I cried a little for all the time we had missed [9-V-2022]
Copyright © 2011 Erick Calder
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