Even with your eyes closed you know where you are
Can't you feel the space of the promenade
feel how the air takes a while to bounce back
Your walk is formulaic
we could analyse it
clone you
the patterns you make in the ethers
the chatter up top
the lonely ache for 24
your arms and legs, a wizardly vortex
You pick up the smashing waves
the following wind
The cafés are gloss paint and crockery
There's nothing impossible
but the usual dreams haunt us
At dusk, the funfair is waiting for night
~ ~ ~
Spell of Release
Their squalor
dirty misery
sticks to my soul
undercuts me
My life becomes theirs
They have claimed me
as a solution, a solver
like I should find them an answer
through living them out
I get through their underhand tricks
their ways to break
and strip me down