i went to the park at dusk with a notepad
and tried to write poetry
i felt everything
like the changing colours in the sky
the people running by
and the shadows under the trees that slowly spread out to tint the whole world
but i couldn't get anything good down.

by night through the city swings a carnival of humanity…
the yellow light that on the outside is a leak
on the inside warms… its wires umbilical cords…
a soul that would be lonely elsewhere finds like souls there…

Don't fall for your flatmate it'll never work.
Just click your fingers and say come 'ere.
Not like that, say it with charm be gentle but masterful.
You sound ****** when you say it.
Down deep in the lake fish glimmer like stars.
And old embers are heaped on the horizon like a city.

I love the way you unselfconsciously answer the buzzer still drunk in the morning.
Your blonde hair that glows at its edges as if you were radioactive, but with a soft white light that just comes from the window in the lounge and frames you in that doorway.
And your body that melts into shadow and then flows out again where you're leaned on the wall cupping the receiver against the darkness of your face, talking to the electricity meter man.

Ideas in light flow through intertwined wires.
Imaginary fires, light-up a couple of neurons here and there.
Slumpen lumpen forms.
Humans just for a moment.
And in another part of her mind, atop a vast landscape, an alien plays impossible notes on a flute.

She smiled and shone in the dark like a police-spot.
All around us eaves of stone plunged into the blackness and there floated globes of orange light.
Faces held on sticks, peered in like fish at the candle flame which hung at the centre of those light *****.
The great atom-like baubles shivered and my legs felt it, when trains went by deep in the earth.
On her lip a trail of candle-light crawled like a slug path.
This might but i don't think it will last i thought, sipping my wine and went on just having a nice time.

I'm sitting in a coffee shop
Waiting for my date
I'm not sure if I set this up
Or if it was my fate
Whatever, she's late.

As I walk,
in the long black puddle by my side,
swims a tiny moon.

when i'm gone, will there be
a space that's just the size of me
that goes for walks, from time to time
and in its head makes little rhymes
that recall somewhat wistfully
a time when it was filled with me?