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She woke up in her clothes again.
and lost;

Who was that last night –
who was that?
Some kind of scribble in amongst the oils; Not even coloured in.

The ceiling wheels around again.
Silent numbers,
numbers of days
wasted away.

What was that last night –
what was that?
Some scrap of steel wool amongst the clay A scratchy scrap of steel wool
Not even beautiful
Not even beautiful.