On the morning of oblivion…by G. Mramor

On the morning of oblivion…by G. Mramor

On the morning of oblivion I rise with the mourning star. I move through the crowds and let our shoulders bump, our hands touch, our eyes wonder. In the park light dazzles children climbing hills, dashing fields, running the jungle gyms lords of all.  And in the cafes hairy legs and summer dresses, grizzly beards [...]

Where roots spread into oblivions…by G. Mramor

Where roots spread into oblivions…by G. Mramor

Where roots spread into oblivions, there I am recording the lines of ghosts, drawing their names to bring a dawn to their faces again, ripped from dream and so scared of the loneliness of hands and feet, and the one body which connects all and yet lets the mind and eyes runaway to lonelier places [...]