Awake, and out walking, before the day, which does not break into existence but permeates from indiscernible source; colours are not the same, without light, this is a different world, a world at the edge; if the edge exists; here the boundaries are snicked twists of bare hedge, like brainstems; this thought leads; or does it filter into; the lane being a synaptic path; and then there's me, got my high-vis jacket on, a fluorescent spark: starting the day as an imagined electric pulse in a science museum landscape.


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