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no one
is looking, there is no one here. we are not afraid of
the night.

we spin.
do not dignify the challenges. tread sweetly,
move on.

it is simply.
not worth fretting.
what is it?

how will they know for thinking
comes silent inside our heads
unless we utter
varying kinds
and ages

it dries and cracks if not stored with care

biscuit tins are useful
becomes larger as time moves on.
it started early, with greek poetry,
the radio, which played all day.
maybe
it was dark blue with a little red added.


lasted two weeks and still prominent.
much has happened since
the power house rears its head again,
pouring images down
like rain.


while gavin bryars plays
on and on
repeated.
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