The doctor’s screen flashes with boxes, bells, ribbons all so enchanting, shimmering, shining; She’s been forgiven; God says ‘yes, you are,’ and she claps ‘please, please,’ her lungs now underseas, with blue ***** and barricudas in search of new colonies.
This is the coldest room in the house, they say as we pull out the fan with its blades a- swirling and fill the air with Friday night conjectures. Her fears come out in rivulets: red and black striped maunder with thorns and petals maybe rosy but I can’t see it’s dark.