The sneering wind flays the sycamore tree of limp, weak-willed branches and their lichen tapestries - pearl and straw-yellow while I stand watching, a voyeur of death and violence the wind doesn't want me to watch howls at me to turn away howls of shame howls of embarrassment howls of guilt It ramps things up tearing down an elderly fence that's been grey and withered for a while Shock tactics. But it doesn't shock me. I’m still standing. Still watching.
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Take It Easy
Paul.