As night’s new choreographed clouds
Roll in and over me
I’m sitting, again,
Whole but alone again
In borrowed skin
Beneath a tree that struggles
To fit beneath the sky.
Between a warm metal heron and
A broken kitchen chair leg
I’m stabbing craziness onto
Poorly seen, second use paper
By stuttering light of gutter candles
With stubborn fingers and a
Well-chewed crayon stub.
Not everything has changed.
Not everything needs to.
25/7/2013
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