Proust on the phone

Stream of consciousness like Proust

Endless inner conversations

But on the phone


Whatever picture or thought

From your mind or mine

There’s no middle line

Stream of consciousness like Joyce

Endless network of memories building up

Talking to myself or maybe you on the other line

Whatever lit memory in the head

From my tongue or yours

There’s only one discourse line

Ever flowing thoughts no punctuation marks

Endless conversations or thoughts

Sometimes even silenced but still the phone line plugged

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