the silence you make for me


stood where



spun fingers

trees lose

their fingerprints,

lose waking

and skirts rust

blooms are buried

scared of frost,

whiteness soon ghosts

the feeling of floors

the sameness, but where

i stride, wrongness,

footsteps not meant to belong

and the sky is quite wrong

and bird song does not fit,

funeral scarves have taken

down the sun to a petal broken pit

atoms disconnect, and the curve

straightens, blood looses prose,

and stillness is shaken, where are

those days the flower grew?

in the roots i follow secure as quiet

where does anyone’s shadow roam?

against them like a lean to horizon

like a shoulder stood rook

there are whispers that unravel, confused

as breezes, there are whispers that tear

apart before being read, why aren’t you

writing upon my sleep?

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