Being alone is now the rarest pleasure
lit up like decadence I lay
under a canopy of blue
light
Only the light here is true
not the idle sketches of suicide and leisure


.............hookers, dancers, lovers, poets
all here
they arrive at the most unlikley of hours
under my blue light
they appear to me
a strange, beautiful sea of poisonous flowers
my blue light shall always water them
for I wont take any chances
striving as I do
to bring existence
into my existence

so this beautiful place still is

i was looking through old belongings and found some good'uns ..a plastic dinner tray you made me smuggle out when visiting you at the P ...indecently torn jeans your doing ,,a broken harmonica..books with scribbles something about a duck.then words.endless words

is the same place where time stands still...t.

only dodgy adverts seperates us/