The Bookshop Sessions #10

There’s a pink blob at the edge of his bed

It’s got a star for a tail and wide eyes.

Holding down the creases, it releases its form, 

and rides into the dream of two brothers fighting 

To blame the fallen canvas.

Fearless he stands, 

with a stare that could bend air, 

as a fist full of feathers brushes his chin. 

Falling gently, 

Steady the wind knocks 

A torrii gate into his 

heavy lent shoulders

Its wood chips, crumble 

Nowhere going 

simply, he says

I am looking in

To the farm he remembers not

a straw bed never seemed so

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The Bookshop Sessions #11

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The Bookshop Sessions #9