Feeling nothing.

Two hours out with Lola and The Demon Dog

Then measuring life in espresso cups

One sugar and a glass of ice cold water.

Watching them participate banally,

Barren dream, waiting for 'it' to happen.

Tramping over Barleyfields

Along the Ginnel onto Westgate

Left by the Town Hall

Onto the Market Place

Ready to scream (like Edvard Munch)

A wasp lingers to sting

Puncturing a deflating sack

Which connects nothing

But frowns melancholic,

Asking,

Can you pass the poison?