White masks and black faces on railings in grey concrete streets filled with rain and grey clouds

While life passes beyond our ability to act, or play or design

when all there are are sticks impaled on railings

in Venetian carnivals with music and water and fireworks

where the silence of the mask lies heavy in the arms

of the drug addled child wresting against fate,

and speed

and movement

Existing in the place between the face and the space

Of stillness and silence and energy and movement and speed

The place of projection is also the face of protection

And the story playing endlessly

in empty theatres with red sets and barren windows

where swifts fly in blue skies

behind bars



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