I can feel the pain of my isolation starting up again.
My chewed down and bony fingers are tasteless
and look brittle and tired as the forground of this paper.
My eyes feel weak, aged and dry,
with a certain crispness like my lips for years.
Something simple, with a fairy tale attached.
Gold dust on my shoulder and a grin stretched from ear to ear.
Some safety repellent and a black board for learning,
married to chalk and an eraser.
-a
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