As the scars rustle through my body and I see the flapping curtain of a glazed afternoon.
Something murmurs in my ears,
the memories of this greyness.
These revolving walls are painful,
the blades are sharp
and the words cruise when you can get knocked down by the failures.
I can remember a tune which I first listened when I first went to see the swaying ships on purple horizon…
It’s not hard to find music these days,
I always find the tune comforting during the times of caged madness.
As the reverberation exits and the curtains slow in its movements,
I find the outside to be squared with potential inflammation.
Probably a tree fell outside.

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Photograph: Moth Owl Photography.