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Five Minutes : Fifteen Seconds

There is no understanding. There is no explanation.

The brace hugs the staff in the body of rain’s fluidity.

The notes fall on the

                           ground in semibreves.

                               Semi            minutes

                      Semi               minims

                                   Semi            liquid

breaks of withering stems. I am ringed between the line,

we are rinsed between the lines. Strings in conversational bleak

hammer the felt of the air – fray its seams. The ear a fibre of wool.

Capsize.      The hollow of a drum.

Drowning is a timbre of sound whose tonal colour is puce.

This is the bleeding of infrasound. Mute the screams of veins running backward.

The caesura of breath is death.




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