tacky

-- cold flesh sticking.

 

trickery turning, turned

trickery turned stale

leading me on...

 

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cold eyes unseeing.

lost love bleeding.

but no-one to weep.

 

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A small hand, curled in a gesture - ‘come here’

But I can’t go, although I’m shown the way.

 

broken bones, paving stones and round green glass

chimneys emitting foul vapours

fat rats

 

footprints in the dirt - ‘follow me’

 

I’m trying!

But the rats are in the way.

 

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fiber, dust and rust -

shaky foundation for life and death

cotton, paper, iron -

shakier still.

 

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

feline chaos

 

Curving ivory.

Clickclickclickittaclickitta-thump!

I meant to do that.

 

Crossed gold.

Staring and thinking and thinking and thinking.

Suddenly waking up.

Of course I was busy!

 

Wailing libretto.

shaking glass and small china things

I’m speaking clearly.

It is you who is spouting nonsense.

 

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Big things are made of little things,

and things still smaller than that.

 

My life is made of little things,

and my bigness is belittled by a larger structure.

 

I depend upon particles.

I doubt they depend upon me.

 

Should the paramecium worship me?

Should I sing praises to the machine that I turn within?

 

When small parts break down, bigger things fail.

 

I refuse to take my place for granted.

Nor should the paramecium.

 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

It looks nothing like chocolate syrup! Nor rust! Nor ink!

 

Not sweet, certainly metallic, and oft used for messages, but....

 

it is still none of those things. Not on a good day.

 

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(in progress)

 

 

The blind woman’s sight falters - and there is no-one willing to take my place.