Too many loose ends. Torn cigarette packets. The Clash's I Fought the Law. Soul of beer bottles. Simon Gray's The Smoking Diaries. Two spliff ends. A one-legged lamp with a tipped shade. Drifting dust. A turquoise carpet. Broken spectacles. Listless staircases. Forgotten bills. TV show seasons. Sighing curtains. Burning angst of poets in a wastepaper basket. Cobweb dreams. Curls of smoke. Surly fridge. A straight moody road. Mirror and death. Boredom. Coca Cola walks at midnight. A twitching left-cheek. Cryptic mobile messages with a smiling face. Darkness wrapped in chocolate. Cindrella's wet dreams. Lynchian irony. The Master's guileless Margarita. Rolling Stone tshirt. Gurgle of an empty shaft. The pounding of one floor above. Crime and police torture. Electric madness and job interviews. Circles and squares of definition. Burnt or soggy food. Stolen wine glasses. Shit, fan and fly squatter and a nail cutter. Blood and clogged arteries. Leonard Cohen sniffing a skirt. News blogs. Endless Indian Express. Swollen will. Slit coats and hot rocks. Blocked nose, hurting back and the eternal flow of urine. Loss of science. Weapons of mass domestication. Obama. Apocalypse. TS Eliot whisperings. Hemingway's bullet. Dragons and drivels. Darkness and enchanted trees. Red lips. Golden apples. Seven dwarfs. Snow White. Grimm Brothers and war. Death of winter news. Death of summer and global warming. Pilate and Jesus arm wrestles. War, war and world peace. Wailing and howling dogs. Tears and terror, film and abuse. Beckett's pillow. Sadness and melancholy, Shakespearean. Fatwa and prissy prats. Prepare and prepare. Strong coffee and lemon tea. The raw beauty. Her eyes. Late night cries. Seasons of the witch. The Horror. The Horror.

Uncertainty stands in the doorway. Then a hand appears and shuts the door. We stand not knowing what to say to each other. This morning a storm came and wiped our smiles. Then came the rain and we cupped our hands and tastes tears. We saw a slab of stone and there was love rubbing its greedy thighs. There confusion which wore an old cloak of noise and we dreamt fear. When we rise we taste copper in our mouths. There was no sun today, just a mist of despair hung on us. The river came with noon. The ancient guard looked back and then we never saw him again. There were ghosts that kissed you. They wanted you to reply. Their message perhaps meant nothing, nothing of consequence. But now the towers is locked and you have the keys. The spells don't work and their is no music. Everyone wished to die or be forgotten. Faith stoops, honesty is on crutch and promise just a hunchback. The wizard's got swollen fingers and his words is a yawning chasm of disbelief.

Today we're broken. We are divided by narrow strips of land. There are boundaries around us. Our innocence is stripped and we stand empty as scarecrows on a field. Music died last evening. There was a fire and everyone watched it whimper and gasp in a sorrow tune. We were among them but we chose not to think. Our thoughts like flies stayed glued to a light of misunderstanding. We tried to hum a funeral, but all we did was spit kerosene when we opened our mouths. We saw the clouds swallowing us, a column of birds chose to rest in the sea. We saw rattle snakes and howling wolves, and we tried to trample our shadows but we lost in the sand.
We were lost then. We are lost now. We no longer see a reflection of ourselves in rivers, we only see a glint of crimson and sometimes tears. Your picture is forgotten even though its kept in a room I promised never to look. I no longer see a promise, but what's wrapped around my head is a satyr that spreads dreams. I rise to hold a string that cry to pull me to a curtain where you hide. But I fall as many others have and many others will. When I fall, I see the remains of everyone that tried to reach you. They tell me to unite them and stand in a line and wait for the eternal bathroom door to open. When I fall, I see my past flashing in a liquid light. There's arrogance in the air and humility in the storm. It's no longer important what becomes if it rhymes. In strange battles and angry times, we follow crimes. We chose to rise and sink in a sea where such things can hide.