Everything is becoming most peculiar
A strange carnavalesque atmosphere is gently blowing around me
Time has moved, passed, drifted, gone back, gone forward, gone down, gone up
There is a tepid touch on me, I shake; feel infinity of tears without inventory or cause
While the sun gives two shadows to one shape
I see the seven minute blackness of 2186
Now pictures of shadows turn their faces from me
Words run away in fear the streets are crowded with screaming, squealing sentences
Squalls of coloured vowels scurry, furtive and fearful
Consonants collide with each other in their panic to escape
As the blinding ignorance of ‘normality’ hunts down the paragraphs
Books, notes and letters are piled, a huge bonfire is lit
The flesh of words, of thoughts of alternatives melts
The flames are stoked, ashes fly spiralling into the air
The smell of bitter blackness is pervasive and prolonged
A bleak confession to tragedy.