at the core of new beginnings, the redirecting
eye adjusts to the half-light, focussing across invisible
alterations. a potent darkness has settled, my colourless
lips strum the mouth of the bottle, unnerved by the
emptiness. burnt down to the butt of memory, crushed against
rotating walls, the breeze from my lungs clips my face like
a poker drawn from fire. the glass is warm on my lap, my nameless
double-edged blade slicing silence where
the toxic air forms a cloud, cold hands
lapping the fumes, a complex cycle of deteriorating.


Originally published by Pete Spence in ETZ.


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