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Cold as water, the escalator cascades.
Floating away, channelled by glass,
I'm out of this shiny mall
and home, via more machines,
to my shuttered room.

The bed is tender, the lamp touch sensitive.
(hands splintered by age,
mottled skin a colour blind test)

I'm hollowed out to a small moment pinched tight.
Within the light is bluish
like the sun shining through ice,
or snow.

I listen for wingbeats,
currawongs familiar.
Ad small scenes luff my mind;
(gravel moving on a river bed)
counterpoint to breathing.

Editing stage: 


I would not change a thing, i love the way you have taken a simple act, ( returning home from a mall) and developed this terrific poem. The first verse is amazing. Regards Roscoe..

Roscoe Llane,

Religion will rip your faith off, and return
for the mask of disbelief that's left.

Loved the new slant on the shopping arcade, and the reality of home..
Yours Ian. T

There are a million reasons to believe in yourself,
So find more reasons to believe in others..

glad you liked it

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