Cigarette Castle

Cigarettes dangle in the pout your fingers once filled;
With the packets I've gathered, I've built the castle once promised.

Afternoons that smell of stale lipstick; half-awake eyes that feel cigarette smelling fingers over wet eyelashes...

Damn you, the checked shirt

Photograph

“The photograph does not call upon the past…The effect it produces upon me is not to restore what has been abolished (by time, by distance) but to attest that what I see has indeed existed.”
-Rolland Barthes

Numbers...

Numbers have suddenly been disappearing: falling off my life like stars.

Dates have fallen off my calendar leaving behind blank white squares. And I dont know how to fill up their flaking, gaping emptiness.

Phone numbers have vanished with homes changing home-makers...whose number is it now?

Where have they gone?

 

And when she slept, she shut her eyes so tight, the lids looked haphazardly run-stitch together...looked like pillows hurriedly sewn together to not let even a feather slip out...