Pick up my wings and fly

Into a constable sky.

Look down on the world and try

To make you out on the distant ground.

Lonely toy in a lost toy-town.

Suspended in spiral sounds---

Sounds of circular breathing.



I'm a kite on a silver thread.

Daring lightning to strike me dead.



Harsh echoes of things you said

Banished me to a thinner space

With unholy ghosts of your bedroom face.

Hands cupped to my ears to place

The sound of circular breathing.



Matchbox cityscape below----

I watch lowry matchstick figures go.

Caught in the timeless flow of discreet silence.