Acausal to the fact of my existence. Criminal tendencies unwound. Attempt at dream manufacture. Bruised knuckles swell swollen two weeks healing proof. A trail of blood and unwashed hands. A trickle. Curious DIs look a little closer.

Unwritten tomes in a man’s mind. The man whose mind does matter. To him it matters most surely. And yet he writes it not. It was a groundswell. Things got going and never stopped. No turning back now.

Glances askance, it was a strange little dance, faces flicked and flitted. Faulty parts were unfitted all the while, not unlike the deadly denture doctor drilling as he smiles. It takes a while.

If you want help they’ll give it. Because they do care, you see. They would really rather that you see, and, whatever your particular malady might be, there is, as sure as sure can be, sure to be a remedy.

Engineering emotional prosthetics. Dropping heavy hints at your toes on time. Bringing you in a little closer. Keeping you still a distance at length.

Your wider family. An unspoken community. An overthought ‘what?!’ Seems, seems, seems the seams have been sewn. And then some.