Friday, 26 February 2016


What I are is forever. Some say fairy but aren't that, word is an ache. I am placement. A there-ing that exists local. Time is ebb and flow and I am here and now. Sometimes local is green and others stoney, sometimes wet sometimes yellow-dry. Now it is grey of broken boxes filled by quick ones.

The smallyoung see so real, past the thither and into hither. Find me perched above a dead squirrel – my adversary for a day and ever. I win. It touched me and life ran out and into me.

'Fairy!' made of flesh and waves.


Realing teeth, twisting air into sharps made to snap and bite small fingers but.


Such life used to real. Less gained in attack.

'Fairy,' airtwist into words. The quick one smiles.

'Touch you?' Flesh waves air.


I win.

So easy.

Quick ones are no squirrels.

I are is forever.


1 comment:

  1. this is just properly, bliddy wonderful. i love this, rj! xxx