Member-only story
Everyday fragmentation
Jan 27, 2022
The spirit of the soul can equal abstraction
No thought, no ravaged sceptical mind can prevent the waking up in
chains
the width of mythical thunder…
Childhood, the inkling inside no longer communicated
with
guardian figures dead or no longer recognisable
Faces disgusted by time, cliches down the phone line
A noose may arrive but there’s a fairytale-star all too distance
but penetrating…
To be dead but still walk
To glide on heels, communicate and stalk
yourself
across nights-images of repetition…
Time gone, a tronie remains
Concoctions stall you
rapidly slapping you
into submission,
alive
but
never really here…
