The naivety of the sea.
the guitar notes pull at me.
I sit here,
plastic bottle joking like a teleprompter,
and think of things I could say
not much at all
mobile and mugs, sheets of paper
a pint glass stolen from another time
when the pubs were open.
The distinction appears very simple
and the music changes.
I touch the laminate wood, the desk
that I set up in excitement
like the the bookshelf,
one plank the wrong way round,
the past pressing its sound
into this space in between
More coming soon…