in an air conditioned supermarket

I had an existentialist crisis in an aisle of mayonnaise, too many choices and to much colour, I dropped my basket and fled to the door, down the hallway and through the cobbled lanes –

I hummed the last song I heard, threw my wallet in the bin and headed for the trees forgetting all my passwords
the crematorium chimney reached up – it’s brick arm searching for stars – the smoke became the clouds and it rained dust for days

Roman numerals have always confused the hell out of me

Mummy, it’s all connected and it’s all collapsing