A face | with more secrets patched in than Bletchley Park |
in a street | a transient space to move from A-B | the jaundiced buildings
scuppered by draughts of salt & age | a broken egg resembling seagull shit
on the sea wall
“Among us | daytime is not failed night |
as much as night is not failed noon.”
Unless projected from its target | light | is of little use | “it blinds.”
Is fruit a burden on the branch or is the branch a burden on the fruit?
“Nobody ought to stop me from becoming God”
explains Professor Whatshisname
Ought implies can
— time’s a-ticking | crack on…
A roiling tundra of obsolete cell phones. Worn buttons loaded with thumbprints |
the lottery sized numbers of friends & family | selfies & holiday pics
inside— they all begin to ring at once as the earth thrums.