Every forest fire
The firefighters in the thick
Of the fire
Always see a
An apperception of a
Firey red head
Who was said to start the fires.

On a remote
Part of the Great Wall
There are sad spirits
Looking for justice
And many demons
Amongst these spirits
Is one of a
Woman who cried colourred ink
Instead of tears
And
Had an ear shattering scream
Which will **** you.
Who was possessed
And died from
The possession.

During the
Foreign invaders
From Arabia
In China
A young woman
Headed to the northern
Mountains and struggled until
She was on the moon
Where she looks over
Her people
Until peace comes back
Though she
Never returned to
Earth.  
For hate is a poison
To her.

Right between the borders
Of Turkestan
And Tibet
There in the remote regions
There lives a demon
Female
With one eye in one socket
And a flower in the other
Scarred
Waunds all over her
Beautiful face
And body
It’s said that this
Demon
Comes when people are
Oppressed
And suffering
To reak havoc on
The tormentors
Through disease.

I’m wearing your old jacket. Remember? The one you used to fish in. The one with the tear in the silk of the right-hand pocket. You used to tease me. You used to say that this jacket kept your loose change safe from my chocolate addiction. You being left-handed; me being right.

I bury my face in the nap of the moleskin collar. My nostrils fill with your scent - stale cologne, a hint of woodsmoke, and...fish. More disconcerting than unpleasant, it’s all I can do not to choke on my memories of you. Of me and you. Together.

'Tell me, how can I be, now that you alone are gone and I am left behind?'

I feel like I’ve been abandoned in a foreign capital with nothing more than the clothes I stand up in and a wallet full of the wrong kind of currency. The day is drawing to a close. My luggage has disappeared with the exhaust from the bus which took off before I could catch my breath and explain my dilemma - that I’m not sure where I’m going or even where I’ve been. Lately.

Maybe a kindness will point me in the right direction. An open-all-hours diner on an inner-city corner, snuggled in between the high-rise office blocks. Maybe I’ll have enough cash for a meal and a trail of hot, sweet tea to lead me into tomorrow. Maybe I’ll close my eyes and remember where I’m supposed to be and what I should be doing.

And just maybe, as the rhythm of the traffic slows and the night progresses, I’ll find some peace in the ever-changing cityscape. A time-lapse production of late revellers, harried shift workers, the dispossessed and restless; until finally the earliest commuters and exercise fanatics emerge from the riverside neighbourhoods to face the new dawn.

‘Hey, lady.’ A disgruntled voice shatters my reverie. 'I ain’t got all day, y’know.' Scrambling for cash, I reach deep into your left-hand pocket and find...***...a limp fifty-dollar bill...and a battered envelope. There’s a note scrawled on the outside in your familiar hand:

'How can you be, now that I alone have gone and you are left behind? The short answer is: you will be. For you are as singular and complete today as you were before 'mine' became 'yours' and 'I' became 'we'. My darling, I’m no tourist. You know how impatient I can get - always taking the most direct route. I’m just out of sight around the next corner. You take your time and meet me when you’re ready. Sometime...later. Whenever. I’ll be waiting.'

Stunned, I mutter an apology to the waitress and step out from the warm fug of the café into a bright, fresh New York morning. The doorbell tings shut behind me and I realise with new-found clarity that I know exactly where I am. I’m home. It’s not going to be a great day but it’ll be a better one, which is a start. Besides I have things to do - chocolate to buy, a jacket to launder, and a needle to thread.

So here’s the truth
You can’t just stop loving someone
There’s some supernatural force
And it reminds me of you
It tells all the stories of us
The way you stared into my eyes
And how time stood still
I still think about everything you told me
That one deep dark secret
And I hate how I used it against you
I was so hurt from finding out
About that other guy you slept with
And that doesn’t make it right
I think that day really messed me up
Even now it’s been 4 years
And that dent you left is still there
It’s been accompanied by other ones
But none quite so deep
I’ve tried focusing on its design
But haven’t been able trace it right
Your love was one of a kind
I guess it’s finally time I admitted that

I am
A lamppost
Trapped
In the midst
Of shinny buildings
Waiting to be
Useful
At night.