Rubber shaving are collected in plastic bags

Grey, rolled slithers of lead and words and

Birds in flight over skies of bleached white, lined

with blue traffic indicators of where to go -

Suggestions that have been ignored -

Implications forgotten, flight path replete with defiance and scrawls;

Scrawls of expression and freedom and thoughts

That have been rubbed out.



They leave traces;

A crease in the landscape they inhabited momentarily

as they gripped clawed talons onto the edges and bent them to form

new shred-shapes and motion where once all was still;

Shadows of themselves, their being etched

Into place, into space; into the flattened depth of the page;

Dark smudges where they tried to escape

And were caught

And were bled

Bits of themselves that remain

In striken smears upon the white and in the fingerprints of theirs,

To Be Identified