dreamed of devastation,           flew miles        low

over concrete .   skeletons,      bones of the thing.



all is dust, as dust we have become.                 slow.



grey.    nothing moves here no more.          no sighs.



they have forgotten us.        we have forgotten them.



are we  now the bones of what we were?



bad night dreaming.



sbm.

foundation for these days. hard work won.                 there

is another way with privacy and organisation.       industry .





leave things simple,

leave thing be a while.



oversight and overland

travel.                 the dead    depress.



overlook; i see the old horizon still.



planes flies over, one then two       we

can hear them from the window. over

there his story  repeats                 itself.



over sight me, over look you. there are

many of us.



legion.



sbm.

. some hedges are higher than others.               i wrote . a thing so private, so intense .



. simple , complex. no one will see it .                           note your achievements to date.



.hell no.                                                         i cannot think of it every day, nor have regrets.



.his life is different to yours.        i have discussed it fully, yet it will remain confidential.

. he is still alseep                                                                              and will remain so a while.





hers is the portrait, a girl. cracked window looks at clouds,                       the mountain.

ledge, dead moths stretched out in all their softness,                            stunned by light.



torn          curtains stir memories, indicate a private place to weave and mend a dream.



some hedges are higher.

sbm.

should have gone deleted. you went and liked it, commented.



now is done,  we are  as exposed.

we are responding to the prompts.



reportage.  write again, tomorrow.



we are witness.

nothing is as it seems. there are enough disturbances in the world,

without another. stay under glass.



though it is a secret, we have none



sbm.

lay dead . do not speak nor ask for   fear.

lay quiet. do not write nor tell. there    are

new shoes by the wardrobe.     at an angle.

still. do not move nor participate in  any

way.

do not breathe, nor cry. there are    new

shoes by the wardrobe,            new shoes.



sbm.

maybe we need to check our numbers at the end, see if one or more are missing.



need to count them carefully, one side then the other.it is all a pattern, that keeps

us safely, moves us onward.



have faith in good and pleasant ways.  be kind to the one next to you.        he was still

laying down and mumbling.



‘why have you not shared that one about belief ?’     i think i forgot.

‘did anyone read it?’   i don’t know.   he slipped back to sleep holding

the rags.

it was nice to sit quiet, watch the shaking, the belief in all those things.

good to hear the voice raised at the back.



sbm.

they come in groups. i have said it before. two came yesterday, pacing by the trees.

none were visible, none were heard, so

we talked about the history, the work and where we came from. the door is bricked

up now.



covered in wool against the cold.  bales taken down river , down to the harbour down

to the cob.



on boats .



they came in packs.                                                                                                  some time ago.



sbm.