Hovering around the still body, to hang
one foot above the ribcage
the soul bird in a worn-out papyrus;
back laid, drifting on a cloud of white.
Just like breath, unnoticed between lines
overweighed by tons of paper.
This is meant not to sleep
contrary to talks about old china
Boring, dying is no more news
hollow slogans’ lie never quit.
Scale Fixing 