Isn’t physically quick or agile.

Disappears in libraries.

Has been known to dissolve into the physical pages of books.

Is good at tucking herself into the stacks and retreating to reading nooks.

Blends in at coffee shops where her voice can be drowned out by the grinding and the steaming.

Can become indistinguishable in the dark of theatres, in the quiet shuffle of art galleries, the finger-snapping of poetry readings, the hum and jostle of the Tube.

Is indistinct. Adept at hiding in plain sight.

Dear rain,

        You are
my favorite song and so I hope that you keep playing. You are

my favorite show I hope you don’t think I’m insane. You are

the greatest friend I hope for you I am the same. You are

the greatest cure I hope you see all of my pain. You are

his big achievement but he won’t tell us the game. You are

his biggest secret so he won’t tell us your name. And so

again the time has come, again the seasons look to change. And I’ve
seen them come again but these autumn leaves won’t look the same.

My home is made of grit and dirt

The taps run sweat,

the windows are shattered,

their glass clinging to frames

like broken teeth to gums in the mouth of a boxer.

My town is a fighter,

built of scrap metal and machines.

The streets are steel

and the river nuts and bolts,

its gears turn through rust

and parts corrode away.

Time turns it green, orange,

black with oil and grime,

but my city is a fighter,

made of grit and dirt,

and it lives.

It's a terrible love
But the hallway is cold
She holds out her hand
And I take it

It's a terrible love
Being connected at the hip
But I'm tired
And she promised she'd hold me

It's a terrible love
But I'm walking in

It's a miserable love
But it's better then being alone
It's a terrible love; depression
But I let her love sink the ship