Notebooks.

JeffCasselman

A Prequel

Arguement

A memory is a piece of information stored in our

brains, no more nor less important than the next.

very few people consciously can choose which

memories remain and which fade with time - so

what is this criteria, beyond our control, which

chooses for us which images we see? What fabric

in our subconscious allows some memories to pass

while others remain, vivid and bright as day?

Mom, Cathy, Trish, Jody.. .you all did this.

I was never supposed to love anything.

1. The Post Mortem

These strange corpses

preserved from decay are the

failed crumbling of honesty and

we'll keep them that way, these

memories under glass

where no air gets in

the suspension of the moment

hold no fear of gravity

or time

not the way I do.

2. Hieroglyphs

Etched into walls,

the hieroglyphs spell

a forgotten language of

ceremonies we once practiced;

pictures of canoes

still summer lakes that shimmer

shared swing chairs,

evenings, mornings,

words that

change

colors, change shapes,

until emotion becomes

illiterate, alliterated

a chameleon fallen

into muted abstractions

no longer able to describe

itself as

what was before or

what might come after.

Gilded now in it's unfaltering

meanings

that have

crumbled away

pale motes of dust

the colored chalk outlines

of a stranger's shapeless fantasy

the myth ofwhat

can never happen again

may have never happened.

3. Dead Letter Office

Yellowed and dog eared

moments of a life that got

pressed between these pages; where

once love letters were sent

as easily as breathing

now only paper brittle to the touch

ancient archaeology

thinned under waves of time

those envelopes, weightless, backlogged

burden the back room shelves

where a raving attendant

at the front of the house

sure in her resolve

no longer believes answers

to such questions as;

What flowers?

Whose heart is this?

When did this happen?

Why did I stay?

Who did I leave?

How can I leave, again?

4. On Reflections

Tied together, bounds

of a spiral metal spine; are

thoughts encased in amber

the forensics

dig for questions

the reflections

androgynous, unformed

commentaries

painted only in form

leaving everything

to imagine

tied together

the answers only secondary

in the process

of creating monsters

or justifying the pain

that selective ignorance

inflicts on truth-

this figure nailed to a cross

will utter anything

anonymously

if no one else is listening.. .

5. There is No Hope For This Book

There is no hope for this book, it's

cloaked unceremonious dust

beneath my fingers.

There are no hopes for these words,

unable to build bridges

they'll fall away.

Canceled passages vain with time

This book lies to sell the truth

This book strives for

what it no longer believes.

There is no hope for this book

It creates romances only

from the elimination

of possibilities.

This book dances in a mirror

all the while ignoring itself

while Narcissus

cannot see his own blindness.

6. Photograph of a Statue or a Forest

It froze in place, that moment

slowing down until the shutter snapped;

when there was an understanding,

it was a commitment

this is how to remember-

Encased in porcelain

eyes looking forward, unblinking

at one unassailable future or past

that will never change

Hands at work, forming

this monument as

a rebellion against chaos

forming grains of sand

and dust against

their jagged will to fall away

and this is how to remember

driven to hold a moment

so that it never escapes

any eyes which behold it

after all names has been forgotten.

7. Words hidden in a Still Life

Words can fail

unborn with thoughts

homeless in rags

wounded in battle

spoken offhand

left alone

shrouded by noise

hidden behind veils or

colorless blank sheets

shredded into bins

intentions held apart or

misinterpreted together

words can fail

to reach you

in every way but one.

8. How to Train Your Ghosts

It is you in the corner when I fail

because I have forgotten your name

I have replaced it with mine -

the sum of a remainder

come to haunt futures, passing

to and from moments

as wisps of smoke from embers

and if it's true I never saw you

here in these dusted mirrors

I can be sure this is your skin

these are your eyes

this is what you left behind

Everything that was mine to keep.. .

9. Writ on a Napkin in Montreal, 1992

If the stars really are empty husks

slowly falling in on themselves

the warm sun is then a myth felt

a fleeting afterthought to this, held.

How void any moment might be

without any fleeting light to see

given life by these dying sparks

filling the long spaces between dark

If a future is already cast and

in probable outcomes nothing lasts

was there more to it than endings?

What purpose then has that light sending

warm to my upturned face today

if only to be felt, never taken away

or borrowed in those moments of cold

when warmth and light are hard to hold

How meaningless one moment in light

when everything is meant to end in night

Every time I close my eyes

it's belief that holds you there in the sky.

10. Evidence

The truth is a j igsaw, jagged edged

and fragments are something broken

or not put together yet-

Memory as an abbreviation

or an accusation

still was what it was, if

lacking contingency or context.

Answers are mosaics often

built rough with scraps of experience

seldom without drafts.

Memory is a butterfly

entombed under glass

suggesting flight but

preserved without life;

colors in a vacuum never fade.

Author's Note:

These Poems appear as a prequel to the

forthcoming full length Amazon.com release

"Notebooks" and are meant to stand alone as both

a precursor to the book and as a section under the

same title - while they will not be included with

the book, they are intended to compliment the

subject matter. For more information, and

downloads, please visit issuu,com/jeffc.