A question looks beyond itself and finds
a small, grey parcel wrapped inside itself.
I looked inside, and all I found was all
I saw. I laid my hand upon time’s surface.
Which way was up? Is forwards always best?
I built a house of questions. Locked the doors.
There is no inside now, I laughed. Once foolish,
twice foolish, three times – still it’s foolish as.
I came back to the present moment darkly.
Even a light won’t work in here. I switch
my torch on but it doesn’t seem
to work. It’s only when we die, we wake.
It’s shush – don’t be afraid to live! I hear.
I carry on with words but want to sleep;
consider nothing as the day slips past.
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