Sarcophagus

Bejewelled,
Orwellian

and lame
the sand exfoliates soft colour

as if by magic
and I’m

gone.

Plastic
felines

twinkle like stars.
I have so many memories that

slip from dunes.

Even the wind
seems
against
me.

We had a
chance to
soar

like the monsters
before us;

now leaden

and packed

to

dusted loft space
,

thought

rots.

(the distance
between steps

is

wondrous.

even this tight air

oppresses

me as
I

sleep.)

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