The boba sequence on a rink

Sunflowers in my home, can anything be this lovely?




I watched a child trace sunflowers on ice /spiraling through recollections of dreams / unflinching the risky centripetal / flailing at the harness of the centrifugal / Any mode of entry into the numbered days, spirals into a script without a story / Is this the freedom of childhood / lacking narrative //

At the peripheral, perennials are always watching inwards / complacent in their adult immortality / for their dreams change like a descent / into the recollection of memories / woven with stories they tell themselves / surviving every minute on borrowed time //

The child asks if she can have a bubble tea of meditative moments / The Tao of now / genius at swallowing dreams stamped in boba balls like a sequence of numbers / but euphemisms are always meant to outlast memories / in madness or genius / and a perfect recollection is simply an imminent death //

The germ of genius is pure happiness facing the warmth / What’s the point of yellow, is it to rival the sun or solidarity in hue / And the rink never says no to spirals or the freedom of children / for outside it is Spring and time to sow sunflowers //




There are sunflowers in my home, Schopenhauer on my mind and I had the pleasure of watching kids on an Ice Rink and a friends little girl drink bubble tea today. Poems simply come together like the madness of sunflowers. Is there something such as the love of ideas, then the world is all we need to write poems for an eternity.

Read this essay today, that quotes Schopenhauer. ‘True mental health consists in a perfect recollection of the past.’ which is the opening line of Arthur Schopenhauer’s chapter ‘On Madness’ in the second volume of his masterpiece The World as Will and Representation.

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