Sharply scratching, gently penetrating,

the page.

A blue-led daubed era.

Beginning,

or Not.

Catch it, scratch it,

dessicated like Liz’s dog dream.

Rim-worn sunglasses,

falling cities in her eyes.

An urban trope,

suburban hope.

Wailing away,

inside.

A crying baby,

a gaunt wink –

within my eye,

outside my eye.

There is a lot to be learnt.