Writing: Disparition

by Beauchamp Art

I’m turning left,
Indicating right,
And walking up the walls.

Cross over board the bus,
Get to gripping the sat at the back,
Raised on engineering.

I’ve seen how this is made,
Cut out metal and painted glossy,
Where I first experienced labour.

Role around character changes,
Today to day is going,
Finances set in cranium.

There’s always handfuls of receipts,
Crumple papers with fast-fade ink,
Washing out in a week.

Tickets kept once,
Trail off remembering,
Where here, we are?

Is it, I am?
Few feet aloft,
Pull link string knot.

Go about as…
You look like…
Forgot my lines.

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