• Vol. 07
  • Chapter 11
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She Rises Out

of the stone walled well of my skull,
my eyes blue as hers blue as the open mouthed sky
aghast at the spiralled sun whose rays yellow
her face mouth closed she asks in her blue latex gloves
that all are safe, as her late husband peeps round
my cranium, raises a hand to still the voices,
or perhaps to greet those who look in at my
broken stars for pupils and the fly of imagination hovers
above my smiling nose the world is on fire with the unsafe, unasked for touch of deadly water. There are no masks looking out at masks.