Baffle (37)

Words are living creatures, which you can feel or suck or set moving with a literary motive force; they are insects flying in the headlight beams and splattering the windscreen in meaningful and meaningless geographies of collision, until the writer neatly ranks them as dead insects on the page like print.

Baffle (27)

It was difficult to decide between the left and right baffles. So, I looked straight ahead and saw the triffid squawking: its head a turban of petals. Begging me not to understand. Blinding me to the blinkers it wore.

Baffle (12)

Flabbergasted, the sound wave struggled through the next baffle, convinced it was light not sound. But not enough light to light truth as it hissed through gritted teeth it was gas.