What memories that send one around the bend as we try to remodel the scenes.

The knave of hearts.

Time in its place and She with the face that launched a thousand trips,

he, meaning I slip into the seat on the back row
quietly watching the late show and wondering if
it's all dreams

and I, meaning he
looks at the crumble his body became
but knows it's still sweet

Apple and rhubarb, some custard and bicarb
all the ingredients for life or experiments
and
intensity
where would we be without that?