The ability to cross the road is all you can ask for these days and hope the flags don't get in your way. They can blind with impunity and keep you rigid at your desk, working to deadline,
It's all coming together it seems, as we walk through the Victorian Age freshly appreciative. Except high rises on all sides fulminating against us, clinging like sheets
It comes to be seen in all this travel, this migration, as if a shadow falls, and us left to make do, and lost circumstances. There was a sense of belonging at some point
We walked along the river as cars zipped by, honking at nothing, lights blaring. The bar across the road (used to be a cinema) way back in the 1950s – or something
And I’m moribund to watch you regress Through ages and ages to youth again; Youth reborn, a child without form, the loss The end of us marks, and is beyond ken: