Monday, 14 November 2011

Edge of a World

He waits for me, threadbare on the costume
rack, lifeless in the bustle of fabrics.

I stand alone on the edge of a world:
a clean-cut cliff-edge above darkness - but

he is there in the mist... I seep myself
in the sweat of the lights, I breathe the dust

between thoughts. Air hangs heavy, laughter spreads
in a wave of tremors, dust hovers in

angel beams... then back to a midnight of
secrets and wires, the re-absorption of

shadow and pulse. Is this body alive?

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