Waiting in between

The naivety of the sea.
Pacific theme,
the guitar notes pull at me.
I sit here,
plastic bottle joking like a teleprompter,
and think of things I could say
anything
not much at all
mobile and mugs, sheets of paper
scribbled on
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
broken off
into this space in between
waiting
passing time. 

More coming soon…