The newspapers are caught in a quixotic tunnel of wind,
Spiralling like starlings in murmurations,
suddenly nothing has limitations,
But I’m seeing all the headlines overlapping,
Fluttering and cutting the air.
New stories forming a hope without an hourglass.
Stories of despair and longing and
Freedom being taken away, death and laughter and busted chapters.
Hands touching flowers at the exact same time in a marketplace.
We are recording the places where language becomes fantasy and fantasy becomes
Science fiction in a imaginary city,
Teeming with some