Brambles write shadows

 

Cut-up of today’s news…

 

Scrappy and scratchy branches and brambles write shadows out of the sun. Sugar leaves pressed against soft, dark skin, a head full of future-young minded dreams. Changes to white British people choosing not to move to minority-dominated areas. The schoolgirl was walking alone when the man pulled her into the wooded area. Bites and gristle, skin pressing under finger nails.

 

She and him in the sun.

 

It’s hard to take the blame – a look of fear that withers – if only you saw the victim or a man. But you never see yourself seeing. In a gentle place a world of imagined people had watched dance performances. The brittleness of that world now cuts inside – now – as a matter of urgency.

 

Preserve your memories they are all that’s left you. As the brain haemorrhage sinks into the ground and under it all grows peaceful. Birds sing and flourish – leaves rustle and melt in the scented wind – carillon of orange zest and roasted nuts, rose petals. Fertile rustling world, mortal womb. The fragrance of life saddens against the cooling heart. Another decline of civilization will take place in front of nature’s beauty, and what of the Human genome project? Sure they figured out the numbers on the dice, but not how to play the game. Lizzie gasps hard in to it.

 

As we sleepwalk into segregation graduates prove important by being more innovative and adaptable. They find new ways to dig things. Dig trees, they dig the earth, they dig the wine. And of course evidence is found of recently dug soil. And King Richard’s skeletal remains.

 

06 May 2013

 

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