There is no wheeling bat-flight to eye-follow around the bruised-purple hues and dim burgundy light. There’s a rejected pulse/heartbeat drumming somewhere in the vague… distance to accompany the mournful cello strings ))))shuddering(((( deep inside my cliff-leaping nerves. A spider on hunger strike… shadow-waiting something out of reach… as the dull, throbbing Echo sings mournful lullabies … Continue reading A Fortnight Within… The Womb Of Your Leaving