The Royal Society of Memory Architects


“The evening went on; I got very old.” — James Tate


Someone or someones danced here; not me.

In a dress half cirrus, half cat’s tongue—
never not overdone.

Orange & blue room not a room
but a woven thing, mainly idea.

Which shade of flame
means the business end?

A pair of legs kicked in flares,
blue denim or denim blue.

Who calibrates how formal a party?

The trick is to make the memory
rhyme with itself.

Either it hums like a chord or.

Don’t tell me how large-loom I didn’t.

Even when a room did not love back,
I was a keen whisker.

Prize watcher.

Never not surveying space as from
a little plinth of cake.

Jen Jabaily-Blackburn