the stuttering serpents silenced the wind
whining about journeys jeopardised by dust
photos crammed in gutters impregnated with remnants
of innocent scorpions tangled in slaughtered lace
trailing from the executioner’s pen
a shard of image peers through its trapped breath
frothing beneath the colours, pining for its ancestors
drenched in sepia, stolen and fabricated
from the stained blade of a blunt guillotine
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