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

follow behind

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.

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