BYE BYE BABY
Bruce. Knowing his name, knowing lots of facts isn’t enough. Or is it? Facts. Turniquets to the mind, tightening, loosening, solving nothing. Souvenirs of what probably was. People keep up appearances, right? A child is missing. Beyond Bruce, twists are timed like clockworks. Go admire the calmness of their function. That’s all. Or is it?
If only a Blackhall boy would make his way back to this, with his name like a tuning fork: Bruce.
If only a lost son would make his way back to Blackhall, and watch shadows fall away from his mum like a snake’s dead skin.