Wherever I turn to look, I am displaced, pushed out by what I see.
At where the curtains form shadows on the floor, dark folds of fabric.
Through the windows, over the road, to where a silver door knocker glints grey daylight.
The electric blue of the flickering wireless router, too blue to actually be blue.
Repeatedly “now” is revealed to be yet another veil and “this moment” to be a fantasy.
Constant Voice 