Pick up my wings and fly into a Constable sky. Look down on the world and try to make you out on the distant ground. Lonely toy in a lost toy-town. Suspended in spiral sounds - Sounds of circular breathing. I'm a kite on a silver thread. Daring lightning to strike me dead. Harsh echoes of things you said banished me to a thinner space with unholy ghosts of your bedroom face. Hands cupped to my ears to place the sound of circular breathing. Matchbox cityscape below - I watch Lowry matchstick figures go. Caught in the timeless flow of discreet silence.