Cinnabar - Pram

Is it the laughter of someone no longer living?

Under glass

Skate on surface tension

Never say the words that hang suspended like dark chimes

Let the wind stir them

When we have departed

Uncomfortable insects

Scuttling from path to path

Leading our maggot lives

Dreaming of becoming flies

No patterns in my life

Only the straight lines the ropes that keep me tied

The outer skeleton

That keeps me held in the stunted wings that moves so feebly

That twitch as I sleep