juddering with the kango, stamped council files, delivered parcels and paid my time to the road. Cavalry dreaming while you toil only magic carpets you to the fumbling blur of the end game. If you crave change, better to make the changes yourself. It could be the same with words, willing yourself to write on, bold or terrified, to crest another page. Lines are birthed from some personal compulsion, each voice unlike any other. Turn away from the hammock, sloth’s siren lullaby, lash yourself back to the keys.
