Primrose Chairs 12/07/25
- charlie stu
- Aug 12
- 1 min read
Updated: Sep 1
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Chase blue through black trees,
white ghosts dance and glow.
A park stands between us.
Wheels thumping,
heart moving.
Chasing a banshee's yowl,
seeing it flee its own shadow,
as passing ghosts call questions.
We stop for none but the ferryman.
Blue runs red,
horns blare,
yellow screeches on the turn.
Pedals down,
I chase the ambulance towards home,
and an unmet future.