A thing I wrote, and some photos I took

I'm working as a visual designer for a devised show called 'Where We Fall', directed by Lucy Hotchin and Oliver Coleman. At a recent rehearsal, Lucy had everyone go away for fifteen minutes and write something to show to the group. I wandered off, and came back with this. I'm not quite sure what it is. It's not quite a monologue, not quite poetry, or prose. Anyway. It's here:

'Hey little dreamer, dervish in denim, singing to Sycorax, open your eyes.
Knocking at locked doors, sweat pours out of blocked pores, don't stop, never pause!
Heart a-hopping behind your teeth, straining for a peek outside.
Lips parted, lungs blossom like blood in a bathtub.

Tossed, tousled, torn.
The wind bears newspaper scraps of laughter and crushed Coke can sighs.
Whistles over you like breath on empty beer bottles, plays your space, makes you sing.

Running with your arms out, eyes shut.
Running with your mind off.
Gravel grumbles underfoot, ghost scrub, salt-flayed, lashes at your knees, all bruise-flecked and colt-splayed.

Hey little dreamer, open your eyes.
Icarus wings won't hold you long.'

Mmmm.

Have some photos.