• Vol. 03
  • Chapter 11
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Concussion

I am up here in empty land
pecking at the edges of a blind hill
blunted by snow.
The moon and stars are thrown
from my horse at a canter.
It seems there is no sky.
There is a chandelier inside my eye,
did Picasso have a detached retina ?

The horse takes centre stage in Guernica.

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