Words by Greg Webster
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comfortthere’s a line. always a line. sometimes it’s a wall to lean on.others a string to pull on. go on. let’s watch everything fall. some see a brick wallto push against. but I am tired. sometimes the sky keeps the darkness out. out there, outside, beyond the outline of the world we know. but the same divide keeps it all inside. it’s the pith bright behind the peel, a bitter side to the fruitgetting stuck between teeth. but I’m still biting. tearing plasters off to feel where that line was first drawn.