My best memory
My best memory
My best memory is
unique,
the befriended bone
of a starving dog, the
preferred spot
of a peeping tom,
my
memory.
My best memory is
my best friend,
my best enemy,
an unknown passerby,
the president of the United-States,
a killer, a ruffian,
Ben Gazzara, Bukowski,
Ray Carver, Truman Capote,
Diego Maradona, the Pope,
a priest, a bald doctor,
a finger, a nail,
a canvas, a museum,
a library,
a skyline, a bottom-line,
a dead-line,
a chilly morning,
a hot night, a lunch,
a sausage-scrambled-eggs breakfast,
a pizza Uno, a
decaf coffee (with milk), a
sensation.
My best memory is
non-tradable --
even after a
10-year long
Freudian,
Lacanian,
Jungian,
therapy,
I will never
fail it.
My best memory is
old, tired, used
-- creases and small tears,
minimal damages,
dull colors, but
remains in
good overall condition,
alive,
pure flesh,
bowels,
guts, intestines,
feces,
is my best memory,
reeking of piss.
My best memory is
stashed away in the glass of whisky
[better be an alcoholic than let it go],
I safely keep on my night-stand.
My best memory is a
car, a 1968
dinky-toys scale model that I
Violently bang on brother's
skull, a
noise (metallic), a
cry, a pain, a
1986 coupe DeVille,
with which my brother broke
his skull in an accident.
Alain Marciano lives in southern France, writes poems and short-stories and draws. He has published a few poems (Pif Magazine, Bohemian Pupil, Ink, sweat and tears, The Rampallian, Collective exile, Shelf life magazine) and short stories (in Animal Farm, Death of a Scenester, Down in the Dirt magazine, Forge magazine, Eclectic Eel, Circa. A literary Magazine, Pif Magazine).
