flowersheathertulipa room of darknesssomewhere there is noisethe painting is foldedloosely composedit is perishablethe painting is upholsteredis he just evil?a non human - a demon?think pleated feathersand the abstractionsgood, evil, gentleness and aggressionwindow outthe recklessnesschalk bathand the dead motherwipe wiperub rubthe sedimentshas been left on my glovesthe colour is the storyfirmly tightenedapron – clothoh how cleana state of increased sensitivitywhat I amis fed withchild's mouthopen mouthflower as a mouthI read aloudspeak out the words butterfly beethe rhythmthe languageflickering breath