Eleventh

Chequered wall looks the same as before

Blue blocks fall through ochre to floor

The floor I have paced and shall pace still more

Face down on the shore

“Arise and breathe”, silver sand implores

Ignores blood soaked pores in insipid incisors

from tripwire inside us

Assimilation inspired by intention to hide us

inside rusty, righteous muscle

The rattle, the rustle mustered by seasons nondescript

that stripped script penned by drifting acolyte

Still black the night, eyes of a beaten lover

Moth-eaten beater may never recover as it struggles

heaving haemoglobin through veins that tumble back to laminate

To reanimate

To ascertain true nature of fog and fate

Clock chimes eight with two hours still to wait

on ingratiating elevation invoked when emaciation alleviates

Eleven levitates

being as it is, the hour unwitnessed

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