“Interval 101,” “Interval 103” and “Interval 114”

In Issue 62 by Ray Malone

“Interval 101,” “Interval 103” and “Interval 114”
Photo by Vladimir Fedotov on Unsplash

Interval 101

first step, to take up the pen,

ponder it,

as instrument—

a piece of paper then,

as white and infinite

as the light—

a question, as to when you were,

what century born in,

what now become—

a breath, as deep

as the first intake

of the cold in the air—

a memory, of the cry

your body

brought into the world—

a further clearing

of the throat,

for the cry to be heard—

a folding away of the light,

day after day,

night after night

Interval 103

A trace of self, left there in the last smile,

the wave as she turned away. Torn

from your attention, a space opened up

in the flesh, a missing person.

A walk with the rest of yourself, to see

what remained of the world that was,

whether it felt the same, to sit with a coffee

by the window in the same café.

A word from the waitress, warmth

unrewarded, the dark stare of the cup

up towards you, staring back, as if

it were a well, with an answer.

A stir of thought, the one thought,

the bitter taste to your silent tongue.

Interval 114

Day, by way of night

to wake, with eyes

closed, for want

Curtains drawn, fast

against the light

Some fact, inaccessible to mind

and matter alike,

lying there, grinding it

to the nothing of dust

Thought, wearing itself

away, from somewhere

to nowhere, trying

To draw the morning up,

out from the well

Of the worlds within

About the Author

Ray Malone

Website

Ray Malone is an Irish writer and artist living in Berlin, Germany, working on developing a highly-reduced aesthetic through a series of projects exploring the lyric potential of minimal forms, based on various musical and/or literary models. His work has been published in numerous print and online journals in the US, UK and Ireland.