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Oct 2020
sat up high
away from the clatter of plates
and the brisk business of living
trying to perch
balancing between two moments
and sifting through memories
summoning them
through the little details
why are they always near the floor?
from the pauses, perhaps
where I've looked down
or childhood's elbows and knees
colouring in with arcs of the wrist
until the fragile paper bleeds
Written by
Sam Lawrence  51/M/London
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