If is a small island, a tiny rock burnt by salt buds, a lapping sea of sleaze and lies where one wanders between four walls…
If, an icon of question marks without a Scots pine or a mask time has rusted, corrupted to leave you breathless…
If has been fashioned and ignored, somewhere beyond your horizon; with only birds as companions… Sky too heavy for its burden,
an everlasting ripping tide.
If is a jail etched to forget in a blue corner of a world built to break you, body and soul, where you hope to come out
I once visited the island as a child and the experience left a deep mark in my mind. That sense of isolation and confinement meant to break you resurfaces in a strange 21st century world. It stands for oppression.