The air is too thick here, thick with the light.
It's like the sky touches the earth and there's no room for us to move beneath it.
No-one here breathes, no-one here grows,
They just sink into the soil, putting down their roots, tangling their veins
Everything is still here, it's stuck and stiff,
It's too warm and too empty and too soft
Soft colours rounded shapes gentle voices slow blinks
Like a Monet left in a loft
Loft in a left hand shake.
The air tastes of soil and the soil tastes of death.
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