Wishland

Don’t go there, really, seriously, don’t go there. These hills and plateaus of mine are not for you. I don’t want to see you as an intruder, but I will. You the hunter and your wish to kill, hunting down this shadow, this grey cloud in the blinding mists. Sifting through the meat, the curtain of red raindrops of this corpse. You’ve come looking, spoiling for a blind fight, spoiling the battleground on which I stand upright. You’ve cut this land wide open and I’ve given you too many words. What I really want to say is, “Don’t go”. But honestly, it’s all OK, now you’ve seen me, and you’ve decided not to stay, for I have some spare oxygen tanks and I can keep myself softly breathing, keep myself inflated in this little world, whilst I watch your late evening and your star, going.

too late
beyond the distant horizon
the world falls away

Colin Dunn

Wishland

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