Monday, 8 January 2024

God help us : Audrey's phone is back tomorrow.

 

The shield man's stop.


It is shut and folded a moderate inflammation. Empty unguarded walls run, dried-out, dead. Here all the colours bleed; lost hard expressions within the remnants of not said. Jilted, steady warriors, in an ashen waxy set. He is a fallen man, bearing small meagre things, old things from a dying world, odd things things that even now feel the pulling of the hour. A temporaryness of love to be abandoned here. MB