Wednesday, February 26


hullo sir, is it?( yes)
I’s outside the stall
counting, in this eve

the sum of purchased
baccy & gum, of he us
this waking winter

won der of ‘get spring
out of bed, y’fiend’—his
soft ice cream vanilla

face toward & past &
in front of me floats is it
I please can to chase.

no more separated us
than seven yards; where
I sleep you read winter

through summer as
colourful seasons go &
here is I is you is me

can we chase
each other if this London
path permits us to part

here not thee short
of there?& the pattern
we wound in the streets

in oncoming traffic
—honestly, do you miss
me as I miss thee?

is it I am dead in part
these days? these days I
am a different shape

hullo sir, is it? take me
back on your( was ours
now your )train.

there is my family a
way from this city grey
muck & the tide

sneaks in; o goodness
I am alone, bring me to
your train & I will sleep

my whole way home &
this if is a nightmare,
call me awake at Thorpe.

so shall I sleep as sleep
is travel, moving, not
dying, & ungrey toward here.

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