I get the day going, writing quietly. Something glittered (glittered) between my fingers. Sentences are an ocean. Stuff like that. Through the hole in the fence. Over the rubble. My bones are also making sounds, and inside them a dark being undulates and moves. Sometimes a couple in love will come across each other and shrug their shoulders at the mind of the sun. There was a whirling in the air and colours shimmered off the walls. Your diamonds shine from my mouth.