Monday, June 8, 2015


You'll have to take my word for it. 

I am that shadowy presence there; so barely discernable that I can only appear annotated.

This is insignificant I grant you.

Nobody else would remark it. 

My attention drifts around the tables.


"I have scaled these city walls, 
Only to be with you..."

All is interrupted by a clatter of plates in the scullery.

We are criss-crossing sound-traces of vitality.

We are incidentally thus.

A table number?
A beer?
A steak?
A sticky-toffee pudding?

The IPA tasted good.

There is a folded napkin.

It is next to an empty glass.

"I still haven't found what I'm looking for."

There is no life here but marginalia.

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