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Tuesday, 20 October 2009


Leaves fall in showers and Autumn moves faster - your instrument of change a walking stick with a hooked end. You talk of fate, control and life itself. You cleave the leaves from trees, weeds, plants and they fall, feather-light, to the floor.

You walk in circles, always circles with your words circling themselves, over and over. The speaking never stops it's eternal hum of questions, only questions.

It spins, swipes and falls to the ground with a wooden clatter. You look up, curse, then start the cycle once more. Leaves, fate, control, leaves, circles, questions, leaves, fate, control...

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