Over-reaching teenage melancholia REDUX (2011 vintage - early sun promised much, although cruel June, July and August took on April for TS Eliot's prize and stamped out all hope of a decent harvest. T.LS and BBW are long since dead in the bottle. ???? is laid down in the cellar, the label dusting over with neglect). So: Fruit hangs useless on blackening vines. Wasted, pillaged earth mocks the doomed seed. The high green tideline clings to a spent foreshore, not receding but evaporating. Not summer still, nor autumn yet. Not, in fact, paralysis but dessication, respiration, retreat. Until all that's left to reveal is the dust of your carelessly-formed memories, and the brittle snap, snap, snap of your heart.