A mixture of crazy syllables crowds around
A constant whirling tribe.
A fuelling wonder, stalking new prey.
I am frightened, somehow in a fruitless fashion.
Have I lost the skills of freedom,
mind rambling loose expression?
Is it slowly losing its butterfly breath and being strung , by one foot, upside -down.
maturing in a haze of flies?
I miss it so, the other side, that sighing in bright colour fades to sienna.
Dust finger through the mantelpiece.
Experience creating waste.