Pick up my wings and fly into a Constable sky. Look down on the world and try to make you out on the distant ground. Lonely toy in a lost toy-town. Suspended in spiral sounds--- Sounds of circular breathing.
I'm a kite on a silver thread. Daring lightning to strike me dead. Harsh echoes of things you said banished me to a thinner space with unholy ghosts of your bedroom face. Hands cupped to my ears to place the sound of circular breathing.
Matchbox cityscape below---- I watch Lowry matchstick figures go. Caught in the timeless flow of discreet silence.
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