To Go...

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Beyond white walls of tinnitus,
and  thrutchings of  a trampoline,
beyond a jittering weave of  birds
and blues of dogs in lonely chains,
singly-strung the long-weekend*
Sunday roads' respite,
trailing a cruising wave,
what do I strain to listen for,
struggle to hear?

I am empty of a word from who
breathes these streams of syllables to me:
I have no wheel or wing or cry
to bear me through that
rain-glass-bead-curtain
where Love sits to compose
the worlds her children play in.

............

*Sunday before a bank holiday Monday..

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