with all that’s gone before us (……

…………) it’s too easy to laugh at

our communication – the lag, that

confusion of a satellite interview,

earpieces stubbornly relaying

static (……******……******…

…) my backdrop a holiday photo-

graph stays to me a bluescreen (

you sit at a desk…) but i can see

from this vantage in time love at

least allows the dramatisation of

a deeper schizophrenia (get away

from me…poem…i’m shuffling

an irregular time-signature out on

my drum…in a shed) being alone

might be the simple interpretation

(…existence…) there’s a reason

though, it hounds you, keeps your

hands busy (once i dreamt of a

pterodactyl that perched on my

shoulder every sunset / & now i

work out what this means (i have

the time)) i admire the overused

de-climax at the end of things:

the fade, the placement of a more

simple image &/or sound, the

symbolic cushion or door-handle,

the bell, the (…………………)

.

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