Yellow lids and the greed ripples padding
to the left,
no sorry, to the right.
Over the canal lobby cry
right at me – glancing
Mallard is in, the others
blocks of uneven cubes laid to rest
lay with me as I sit
with Brunell –
they come and they go,
exit and leave
sky blue shell – she’s left already
sheldon square now sees me
where the red gas cans stand
walking upward and over,
the air becoming colder.
I’ve been here before –
my entry here on training
my exit in a bed I’ve never slept,
with people I’ve never met.
phone calls I don’t understand;
images break with words
nosense and falling apart – the language is failing me.
Unspeakable moments never heard,
conversations I can’t understand
on Friday I’ll feel the physically sick
and that’s all I understand about it.
Hide and design.
Be the runner, the rider and the rower,
… stand there unreal.