Cavity Wall Insulation

Foam,
bricked up,
night shaded,
fumes.

Drifting through cracks,
a silent
strychnine
gas,
tightening
the lungs,

blocking
air
like a child lock
blocks
escape
from
the back seat,

waiting
for sleep's
appearance
before launching
the final
breathless
attack.

image: po

Dylan Harris
86-87

it's my hands
my difficulty with melancholy
hence the coldness
fear in flight, god
dog sea
push pop
all
publish

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