Tuesday, June 4

I Put Three Letters Together

IF I EVER SAW True Love on a packed Tube, I'd probably ask for Its autograph and then afterwards tell my friends & family how It was shorter in life than I thought It would be. They would be jealous for a moment that I'd met True Love, but eventually they would forget about the whole encounter and I'd be forced to find importance somewhere else. For eleven days I've been imagining meeting True Love on a packed Tube.
They show photographs of True Love in the paper all the time and, startled upon a train, I am tempted to take a look and read the words underneath. Still, the paperboys shout in the street and slap the halved papers on their knee.
To take my mind off things, I find total solace in walking. Some might tire of the same route over & over; with no purpose; with the same beginning & the same destination; only the date varies; maybe something inside me lessens each time, though my fever for Helen remains. I simply seek distractions from her.
I put three letters together and came up with her. So what if she is miles away. So what if it's all ended. Nothing goes right with me.
Zhukov always wished to learn the accordion and he began after the siege of Stalingrad. He played here & there, but it wasn't until he was removed from the Army that he would learn 'The Peddlers', 'Baikal', and the old wartime tune 'Dark Night'.
The pith of oranges stick to my fingers and, daydreaming, I smoke my cigarette after lunch. The sun is back and, though the chill oft remains, I am wonderfully dazzled by it. I wedge myself in the piece of it that gets through the cracks of the buildings.
Float upon time like it owes you a favour.
Lisa has invited me down to Brighton. I wish to see her dearly, and I know, I am certain, that she will distract me. She is tattooed now and she wasn't before. We lay on a bed, lifted up our shirts and prodded each others bellies, stuffed on Chinese takeaway. Lisa says I can photograph her ankles.
I am two hours from the capital. I will survive, though some days I really push my luck. I make little plans in my head. Sometimes I wonder whether I cannot be. The fridge has finally been replaced and doesn't buzz so much. In the evenings, unattended and seemingly at peace with her life, my nan sits in the conservatory; facing the Aladdin's cave sunset; she disagrees and tells me that I will have children; sits there, listening to the radio; her blind eyes looking at nothing, blue grey fractured made it across on a ferry; eventually she hears me rolling a cigarette and asks who it is. I like to look at her just before she asks who it is.
During my walks I pass a patch of grass beside a tower of offices. In the sun all of the workers have come out to eat and to sun themselves. They sit on benches, chat amongst themselves, make phone calls, eat as tidily as they can, and breathe the fresh air in through their noses. The labourers from a local site take their hour rest on the grass. They remove their shoes, put their jumpers underneath their heads and doze with bare feet. I walk past and stare at their soles and feel a sense of calm.

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