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.