A SONG FOR SUMMER

Spare me the yellow loneliness
Of scorched afternoons, that gape like private deserts.
Spare me my skull, swathed in a sulphur dazzle
Of vindication (but not my vindication):
Where chokes a flightless, an imprisoned bird –
And on the inside: it’s all dark.

June 2004

A SONG FOR SUMMER

Stephen Jackson

London, United Kingdom

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Artist's Description

You can’t get it right for Depressives. In the winter, they crave sunlight. In the summer, they cower away from whatever might overload their senses.

Artwork Comments

  • Suzanne German
,
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