the train stops at the town of my birth so the driver can check if something went under it
love is not an economy – know where love comes from – there is no balance
line by line i learn how not to be a writer
the massive policeman at the door has kind eyes when i open it
the local toffs ring 999 about anything
two young lads on the train seats opposite one keeps complaining about the sun in his eyes but doesn’t change seat
the lad with special needs keeps playing a five second clip of a bell and a ring announcer half announcing rey mysterio and then the bell again
Mad morning rush mind’s quiet
Open so open my brain falls out finally I can look at my brain
I don’t watch wrestling but I still read the dirt sheets every day
Most habits are undead
Sunday morning crammed bus ferrying souls to their allotted gods
Sunday is just another form of labour
Latinos in orange vests returning from work proper grafters
Unbidden happiness soul’s weather
This empty seat on this random bus is mine here are my elbows
After a close shave with an escooter I watch a hoverfly for twenty seconds