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Even the word boulder becomes a smooth heavy object in my mouth: 
A large orange-brown rock, embedded. 

What does it mean to be erratically adrift, so far from home? 
How does it feel to be misplaced? 

It....they.....we....who are ungendered and unagenda-d

Tumbleweed, crashing though time. 

There is a reason why we recognise ourselves in the stones, in the rock, in the salt from the sea in the air and in my mouth. In the difference
There is a reason we know our
selves in the complex whole. 


The Seagull & The Ice-Cream


A bubble gum ice cream, a nod to nostalgia 

And nothing to do with fibromyalgia 

(it’s the only word I could find to rhyme) 

But let’s get back to the seagull’s crime: 

Taking a thing not his (in our eyes)

Creates a sort of catechize 

(in the non religious sense of the word)

How 'who owns what’ can often be blurred

There’s a circle of life we can reflect on too 

When your ice cream now covers my car, in poo.

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