sleeping lines the track lines of recent dreaming, are etched into your skin like yesterday’s fossils. speaking silent of the inconvenience of mornings, plucked from our own,
how spiders make the most of our world as a strawberry red sky pours into one of the seven hills, the air is strung with the ghost wail of a bus at daybreak. lit with the white
owl for the morning whilst the twilight still sleeps in shivering dreams, the beat of wings flutters through the cold trees, branches at slumber. and you call from just beneath
family photograph it might never be better than this: the close shouldered assembly line smile, forced against a sea blue background. neither of you can work the camera.