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.