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fleewas that the crack ofsticksunderfootor was it the snappingof spines?fleeing the forestthick dripping cobwebs trapping our thoughtsthat leaked from our feet and the corners made from our elbowspetrol teardrops of timepools of uspetrol pools of uspearls dripping from nowherepearlspearls dropping and hittingpetrol splashes, petrol splashes of usa nature swells an invisible hand calmspearls bobbing in the black puddlepearls stock still in the petrol puddlein the petrol puddle of uspearlspearlspearls sink into thepetrol pools of usa black duvet pulling upover sinking sun pearl drops perfect and roundsinking pearlsa white frown disappearsunder a petrol time lidnature smoothsa dish cloth to wipe up the historyof falling pearlsblack inertiaover black petrol pools of usa time puddlewe forgetto saygoodnightwas that the call of hope or didour hopelessness strangle a spluttering response out of existence at lastI wantto fleethe radioactive mechanical world
Reasonsbecause you come to me, in a place made out of nowherethe apparition of you striking a visual prayerand you came to me as a manbut really you were every manand you occurred to me as a womanbut honestly you were every womanyou were the entire species to me:flowering from an upturned palm was the guiding love of a carer, a life giverwhile the other hand slid through an inwards curve in the knowledge thatyou were my loverI think I believe you gave me lifebecause you filled the cream of thoughtsbecause you travelled in me, you werethe message in the bottle meevery time I drank, your inky words would surfaceand make me foam sentence stains, and your sentimentswould fall in gloopsfrom my abused and forgotten tonguebecause you surface in moments when I feel I can't love anyoneand you remind me that you are everyoneand you will continue to dominate me, because you are clutchingmy brain stem with firm hands, and it is submissiveunder the force of your weight. You are growi
AsylumThe underlines are already comingthis is what I said this is what I didthis is what I said this is what I didchecks and checksyes all the dustremains in place, a perfect natural orderthey do not perform inspections of the mindthey know how that goesthey know how that goesCan't you feel the electricity in the air?Stripping us back, bark hanging from birch twigslittle upright branches with their soul husk skins dangling down by their sidestucking flapsinto trouser pockets (try to save)when they obscure vision –
Home'Home,' she said.'Home.'A hairfell astray,knocked from her ear.'Home. This pit where I throw my excuses,my reasons,where I direct my anger about the injustice of the worldand existence as I see it – this is not a home! Just becausewe have come to a standstill hereand grown to accept our inertia like the dust that falls on us perpetuallyit does not make this place anymore a homethan a car wreck trapping broken survivors: the result of this crashlives on indefinitely, victims paralysed and bolted in and yetso agonisinglystill feeling,still breathing,breathing in the same nightas it unfolds over the best part of our lives: getting acquainted withthe straight knife edge of the seatbelt that was thereonce to protect us,but now only cuts furtherwith an ironythat penetrates deeper; oh my eyesare so painfully open, and while the windscreen shatteredinto innumerable pieces that lie free and scattered, my eyes remain the same,untouchedand unprotected from the cal