Fence: Can’t see and ‘should’, a theme, incomplete triumvirate. Stick figure unison lost. Looking out, talking, the stranger perceives the struggle, thin concealment. File & let. One syllable will do. There’s no melody to make the green bearable, just greening and greening violently. Rip and torn and make and try and find and fail but the green’s nothing moving, despite duplicitous cause or stare.


Fence: Blades following heat following a cool that’s only on the skin. Candle wax isn’t hard, isn’t full yet.