When rememberers begun stooped sun and barley shared memories' story of lush lit flood-fields of skies that anchor westwards in spite of shadows guise history falls on words not the sword but words are the knife within the skewer of the sword.

Early tentative print erased white path of gentle motionless grace and unfierce time the chastened gap leafless by simple slow winter's time unburdened swoop. swollen hesitant midday's gravity late swoon gleams the silent reluctant the eye settling upon lifted ridge with trickles of heaven dust like fur on low footprints that hides empty scent of scavengers resting ice sparkle and shimmer dreams of care and pine too early to wake upon the desert step but out of time to slumbe

Lydia herself was a mother and grandmother, but she would become a mother to her 3rd sons' daughter. Officially, this was deemed so offensive that it induced expulsion from the Soviet Union who deemed such an abomination and such a western perversion that the West deserved to be dumped upon for its 'subversive amorality' Lydia would become a permanent refugee so degenerate as to be a matter for the narcissistic MI6 who would be self-harming and even hand the East an opportun

It was almost as though he couldn't' quite recall what this one word could be that felt like a pulse that was getting nearer and now right next to him, but he only truly got curious when the pulse started becoming more distant. He smiled mischievously to himself: why don't I build a false narrative even a form of reference to the only two people of note that he'd seen in a while. This was his theoretical exercise of the day, so if they had used trigger words or references to

Scene 2 Wakes up by hearing a young woman screaming. He recognizes her voice but can't picture her; no visuals? wait for more intel. Then realizes he's in a hospital bed with plaster mostly over every limb and also most parts of his face. What has he just survived? now he's in some pain. He tries to move but is hampered by the plaster over most parts that seem to not work because of it. Is he being supported and healed or coercively constrained? But isn't he meant to know?

Context: a bus erratically slithers through the traffic, early one morning in May. An elderly lady with a stick to guide and support her has a short conversation with a male middle-aged driver. -Are you alright just here? -Just stop at the next lamppost. - Ok? Is this ok? I said is this ok? Hello? Is this.. -................................................................ That's fine driver. Thank you. But as she descended down the steps in a fragile manner, something caught

Start the sky end the rain gentle mercy but if you sink the silent petals shut the open clam if you stop the bud before it shines all the sun knowing for seeing becomes the short of time but giving life as a wander where all corners are too arranged the risk and the way to the end can be that life only understands.

The arch of the Yew shield winter stalker and summer shade rains buried in cloud reward ancient forager or cursed by hood of insular muse not to break the insurant. Slate grey and moss root in hills bludgeoned painful shivered broken leaves that lie in between the shattered splay of rigid needles that linger long that spike in the draught that flip of season's coin famously the outcast. This stain by wrinkled rot hurry the grubby draw of charcoal in the dive in stubbled plain

Lung gasp blind of claw invading throat gauging coughs burns the wildfires billowing the choke. This pain leer will jagger the pit beneath the rigged fallen upon the rip wind the rattle scars time past lies and heart blood of shard a lung filled as empty a lung plied by heart

A year night knows all of tomorrow all of before that yesterdays may be now but don't belong in mornings brow like the lyre or kite wired and spire beyond the written spread of secrets like tears askew spinning wheeled welder of the spark boulder of light bolt of May bright the spell and not the fight all in over night brush jolt the sin and spring the light

Seas bloated with the slick of winter have made flightless the cold huddle of gail and gull that wades through wet sands stalking shells of the last hungry grains. Of mist greyed ? seas clenched waves that wound that sharpened rip and the curved slice tip of that breaking wood amid the spires that salt that rain clings like these tides maul. What can gasp shingle-rap or seaweeded litter crack can chew crust of plastic marauding the shore that crave the rotting wake or want st

As I could hear as I could see I painted by touching the fools' anonymity and I lost the fate of my words like the enemies of my tongue what brush of paint could the word be done ?-

Blue skies breaking the sheltered waves guided tide quilted lap of the ancient coral hushes of sun swell pools of reef surf skim the free current unfurling the glider lit in moon's flight swum dimming were all constellations but the quivering stare of their pairing that merge all sun's light and reads friend and land the flare signal of the like

Beaded cloud taut and locked stuck steep venomed the fog dust ribbed before dunes as a scavenger unfurled sting the bait passing drowned lies the traitor of vengeful gait

Rides rebound that spin moon cursed of water marks or tread the wet sand that sinks dry the hallo's feet beat bitten by motioned retreat that trail luminations wake of shores penned that churning the rasping grate or the reef sliced drawl is spewn hapless beneath the loosened rows of colliding fret creeps lurk the inlet that's clenched cold as this water carrier this floundering currents scar may shallow the weightless shadow but whirl hidden and is drawn from the ghost of th

Daylightrivers the forager off and low clear seas peer crescent sand ladened draw the fiery glow filled glint the chain of eye to ear call off the paint buy off the seer exile the runt and kill off the seer

Why does the faceless wind-tree listen to river's quiver cascade the twists into skies of flecks valley's that invade our times can rusk and rain and pollute stained flow ? How trucked are long passengers the fractured dark that shift and crack the mirrored pole ? Yet pale is the dawn of wails and careless grow that hump where once exhumed the grave buried inside the silent glow

Window grips tapping fallen contours grind sibilant prowling triuteries vents slide gnawing animal shrill of filing grains gruelling down-gutters flushed painted waste braced nip grip tentacles caustic on trampled flay under the scurried chase trodden croak bones crack the wheeze flax ropes of boiled skies by ripping the throat just thunder soaked drenched in disguise furrowed map contours rain weave fuel the seeping drains that blind gush gashing the crust and snort craving

the rootless hands whilst the stars sink into distance beneath the silence of coiling spirals lingers that moon reach to put out what was left of intent still slumps shrunk bossed by doubt evens the offending seat won't bolt from risks by salt sail grass rootless hand's the thoughtless feet

Blurred wind of tentacles of rain trails streams upon that dropped slate of that merciless paint that nips the gloveless hand bespeckles the whim herd lying with the tech from splattered lands to the fingerprint of stain to run and fetch where the Art connives where the honest pain isn't the dishonest bland ? The soaring blame the curve headless always all buried in sand