Streetlight is entering diagonally inside the attic
and dropping on the biscuit coloured floor.
Some heads are returning with their cornered eyes,
like dandelions in dark cloud.
People generally have lack of conviction
but at night like this, it doesn’t matter.
All it takes a trembling perception to go clear for the emancipation…
In a far out window somebody is standing with all the disciplines to not put a bullet into the skull,
Sometimes music can’t save you,
sometimes words can’t save you,
you see, sometimes you are not meant to be saved…
At its best art can be an escape,
a razor to cut the light,
but if you can’t see the reflection of the sky in running water then nothing can stop you from growing the suffocation.
What if the night birds fly and you can’t get away from the shadows of their wings,
What if the moon gets full with the past bloods of your silent rage and now your ignorance makes you a criminal of invading genocides.

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Photograph: Erin Reed.