Wednesday, 11 September 2013


I live in a demolished house
songbirds sing their songs inside insomniacs’

slumbers. We live nearby the coast
clouds roll in on gigantic shadowy wings

the human creatures with jagged
scars beneath their eyes

swig from bottles of inebriating
liquids. The harassed stage

manager mistakes the audience
for an icefloe of polar bears.

Beneath your feet a secret railway line
carries messages from the 19th to the 22nd century &

however hard you try
you can’t write down an address which doesn’t know it exists.

Perhaps you’re just lonely
or wish you could speak French with a Westphalian accent?

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