by Fatima Zahra Rene Böhmer brother a knock on the door and the skull poster hanging half supported; half dangling so the bones are sliding off onto the pale stucco; yellowed not by the sun. the boy’s shadow is above him; sketched on the underside of the bedframe in the void between the torch-light; beamed by a hollow curved inwards like the crescent moon. a monster can slides out to roll until it crashes with the door and rolls back; one must imagine sisyphus happy. he looks