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Old shed

This second poem uses the other photograph in the prompt:

old shed

I tried to relate a number of concepts here but after a couple of hours of struggle and my pencil reducing considerably in length, I have to admit failure. There is the germ of an idea but it’ll need more time than I had today to get it in shape. Still, this will serve as a reminder.


There, a shelf of jars before a window.

Good glass aspires to erasure, it
signifies nothing. This glass, however,
asserts its existence. The jars enclose,
the window warps the world beyond.

Just-in-case jars, dusty and forgotten.
Screw-topped, flip-topped, cork and glass-stoppered,
wide and narrow mouthed, long and squat, all
contents long gone. Like words holding their shape
when the meaning has fled.

That thin pane conjures a filmic dreamscape,
a Gaudian geography of stretch
and snap progression.

Don’t look for meaning here. Only disuse
is significant.