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?