So you really are gone.
Anyone
there?
The flight
of steps
leads to a
dark-lit
wasteland
of
humid
bedsheets.
The room
where
I died is
where
you exposed
me.
Cold, cold
bed…
Thinking of
Langston Hughes.
Life is
fine,
Fine as
wine…
Hey, Langston,
just for
me:
sprout a
symphony of
colours
out of the
sound
of blue.Published in Napalm and Novocain
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