6 October, 2012
Cold cold room, tall, no sun three woman high five by three, small yet not large, walkable seventy rounds, one kilometre stone, upon stone sixty centimetre walls solid, functional Cold Cold To The Eye cold walls, white, plastered, thrown on, over time, rippled, dented, rough white paint, covering, thick, runny, fingers the floor, concrete, overcast grey functional, used, stained paint, coffee, paper green, white, red works of blood unseeable To the eye
The Room, empty, except for one, and one One, just burnt long night the flame loders, at the ligaments, as they pause the life, around, down, all systems, down grey one feels washed out, an old carpet an old damp carpet The sun low, tucked away, behind a roof top here, snug sitting, in the big, The Room the noise of cars, in the background, people going about, industrious One, dog, on the carpet, lying, the stick between his paws, crunching, crunching out the sound out of the side of his mouth he looks up, as though to say “whats up?
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