A hundred mes
Scattered over the bed
All of them in love

Leaving a home
Oily marks on the walls
Empty patches on the floor
Where the sofa used to be
Ought to be
An El of dust
Marks what was
And home
Feels like
A raid

A scattering of golf balls
      On the brown field
            Squawk
                  And fill the air

The leaves crackle
And the packets scamper
As I walk up the street
On the way to the postbox

All these people
Hanging upside down from the clothes line

Orange: Night time leaves
Orange: Night time pavements
Orange: Night time walls
Night time railings are black

You could fit a layer of skin
Between our hands
To keep you and I apart
Which is kind of like real life, isn't it?

Red lines on your lips

I push and you dissolve
Because you are not there

There's a butterfly in the bathroom
I can't open the window

On my body
Pieces of fashion
Jumbled up

Everyone in The Meadows has a bright orange shopping bag

Pink pink pink
Dulux colours in the sky

Honey covered porridge with pumpkin seeds on top

A spider has spun a web of cracked glass at the corner of my window
In a hundred and fifty years all the light will be splintered

It's early morning
Five squirrels cross the road

Seagull chases pigeon




I stare at the rails
Out the back of the train
T
h
i
n
n
e
r
W                i                d                e                r
S        h      i    n  y
Dark

Dirty grey mops
Smother the trees

I'm walking, and I look up
The leaves move across
The leaves move against
The leaves move across

I look over
                                                                        The waterfall
          Rocks
                                                                                        Go round
                              Carving out my insides

Water leaves the beach
The bed has made lines in your back

The bed has made lines in your back
Like when water leaves the beach

Brass rubbed to the pavement
A rain soaked parking ticket

A rain soaked parking ticket
Brass rubbed to the pavement