But don't we all know about the created men, the false women

The splashes on an ageing page

The moments of voyeurism with no walls to speak of

The unborn, never been, never beaten ones we follow to see stagger through a room unlike ours, embracing before they even reach the bed

But don't we all feel the flicker at our centre
Of the imperceptible ever changing light that illuminates the words:

*"Days ahead you will be spent
Days ahead you will be weighed up in stone stronger than and words freer than
Days ahead they will play a meagre game of cards with your memory and then put the deck away."