Request. Stop. Please.

Request. Stop. Please.

Request. Stop. Please.

Request. Stop. Please.

 

 

They have,

suffered rendition by twilight

opaque souls in jelly moulds

behind distorting glass, wet with steam

from discarded breath

 

They descend, en masse, downhill

Ensconced in their private mires

While I travel the other way

En route but solo to another place

Thinking as I pass

How willingly we let

Our lives go by

 

 

No flash of brilliance. No insight

Just a chance sighting

A fraction of glimpsed time

Scar tissue of mine

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