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.