• Vol. 03
  • Chapter 08
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Three worlds

, and tonight's set to rain again...
take in the washing...
put the dinner on and then...

The nods and mms tethering me to you
Fray and spin me off centre.
The spare eye rests politely on you


mine chases my mind sideways,
Escapes into Narnia, the Shire, Elidor.
Faery lands forlorn, the widening gyre, a stately pleasure dome.

Watchfulness of dragons
Silence of wrecked battlefields
Agony of theologians.


Always, too soon, the falling down to myself
Shoved under with a flicked fingertip, a bruising look from the voices within

twisting through homicide and days on the beach
work emails, memory of apples, aching side
others' glances glancing off my crumbling shield


The space between us grows tangible, opaque.
The fog greys my sight
My gaze, askew, mirrors my dislocation.