The End

“Hold your arms out through this hole and don’t even think about causing trouble”, I rise my head, the cold cell – clumsily stumbling to the door – “What time is it?” I ask The guard nods down at my hands, wanting a little more than I have already given, …

Bluebottle Dreams

Bless this man for he has prayed Prayed for days forthwith since waived On pedestals perch silhouettes Faceless masks for which he’s wept Kept images of futures past Bowed down and followed to the last Or so he thought with sightless hope Dependants given tools to cope Tools unused or …