"Poetry and hums aren't things which you get, they're things which get you. All you can do is go where they can find you" – A.A. Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh
Movement comes tepidly as you trapeze toward shadows; Patter, Patter.
drawn in by the secrets they nurture
Invited by the intimate tension of searching out uncertainty that festers while you sleep.
Trapped in the hallways of childhood. Running through the familiarity of long gone places, fathomless and deep.
Mannerisms repeat; Like a scratched CD, stuttering and shuddering with its own frustration.
Grinding at the fault, repeating again and again – the images unfurling in a jittering scene.
Blackness… hallowness, your eyes flutter in temptation.