the traffic island is more a boat. i think.
my earphone slippage was a major concern
mid passage. conclusions form in a bubble-
of-time beyond measurement, such expansion
everything i want. across the road my reflection
in the accountant’s frontage caught my eye –
dismissive, fixed his hair. just get on with this.
before, graffiti-lite under the footbridge & every
piece a variation on a theme: what were you
thinking? else, here you are. i’d admire the
coordination but it’s a half-lit afternoon &
liking things doesn’t seem right. so i don’t.
i get a little broken in all pursuits, crossings,
passages. simplicity is my enemy. words et
cetera: internecine. going to lengths to navigate
traffic or arrange flowers, everything is suffuse
with sentiment. if you want it to be. what means
more & what makes you smile. i’m anonymous
pink & yellow buds of light as i’m hand-
delivered into the final mirrored oblong.