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First lights up. I wake up
Pressed against an unfamiliar wall.
“You’re joking, not this again. Not here, not now.” The wall plays my sick breath back.
Yes, it’s that close.
I retract and start again.
Second lights up.
I dilate, and the vertical clippings are there Pasted against a Balkan sky.
Like cake layers they reveal etched flavours: Cream, vanilla, banana,
Steel, salt. Retch!
The iris shrinks.
Third lights up.
My back rests against the Balkan sky, The town and pasted layers.
A room stages a scene where Avani lies. A still life, but awake.
Here she thinks
And writes away my sickness.
August 2025