follow the lines into the city left behind (for more?) familiar turns and street signs flash at passing headlights. I come crawling back much sooner than I should. clouds close into dark til tomorrow. wrapping myself in the embrace of armour stolen from my brother’s wardrobe I read and think of mystics and the people I admire. the artists talk about knowing themselves. I wonder how they feel about the war. the bus is pulling in now and I’m back where I was: as far from finding the stones as before. grip the moon round my neck and smile into windows between want and all the beds I need to make.
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