Lights above the summer fair reflect on tins of Super
And there within a sublime madness, I find my lifelong stupor.
Drunk, cry, drink, sky, on our backs in laughter;
But this disparate, foolish love of mine is nothing you are after.
Bass, hearts, twilight, beat; that soundtrack cuts me still,
Above the fair, out of our minds, upon that wind of ill.

                                                                                     TS Lefort 1987

Paint it, black.

Now I get the song.

3 poems to here
7 more to there?
where? where?

Trust me?
i'll see me
there?

Where
TF
is there?

I no longer
Don't
Stare

Pages inked in memory of days which deserve no backward glance - no dwelling upon, no minutes added to their allocated twenty-four hours - except for the fact that I have breathed their air, lived their promise, and named them for myself.

When I read your words
I hear your voice and I wish
they were still for me

1:47 AM
26/5/19