A momentary loss of perspective as settings shift in a different time.

Image Credit: 
Public Domain

How light the tungsten filament slips
exposing glass to skin
braised burns high and solitary
swept from ash
owing peace to the void
until the piece is forgone.

Spinning in circles below
the dipping chair still wet from the last
under canvas
craft stick figure deities
twig abdications
and break these bones
black as coal.

Dried beech roots sleep beneath the hill
this sweetness grows
under tongue
loose mouth
gap tooth
spit blood
drown dunk
a new plague
black with death
boils foul.

Fair as fight and soft
dead wait
rotate about this place
and fade the bulbs away.

Seb Reilly is a writer, fiction author and occasional musician. He lives by the sea in Thanet, Kent, with his family and two cats.

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