comical really

things not fitting

sewed angels

split-up rays of half-light

or noises coming from where?

when? over there – is simply

wrong. That feeling I get

when I lose my bearings

a little drama of powerlessness

as though my bowler and rolled-up Times

rumbling along the platform over the edge

under the eight-O-five to London Bridge

comical that way.

A misstep on the stair

non-fitting. The time it takes

to not-fit in. I’m nice, aren’t I?

Know the ropes, don’t I?

Ha that’s all gone – the ‘outer’

(has it?). This tent is interior-

it’s how I set myself up.

and that’s the funny thing.

He gets like this,

when things change.

Give him time.

Give him time.

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