Hiding in spotlights, not running in shadows

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It's that thing. If I lose you. Again, and so it goes. Stumbling in, falling out.... payday loans are 'Go' in this day and age. Grim, grin... and bear it? No ta. Just like me in this 'visual world'; those ghostly moments of rage, fear, sadness. Tears and the end of time; wheeched away on a Megabus to who knows where. Poundland? Iceland? Where the jumble sale mums go to meet the boil-in-the-bag dads, Brett. Time travel with you beats the odds. In annoyance and irritation of your behaviour, at my ineptness - not knowing what to say or do. You are not her. And she is not the sum of me. Checking the small print for a money back clause. But this is not Argos or even Cash Convertors. Chains broken, head kicked in to awaken from this annual coma. The caustic code isn't written yet as so little is unfamiliar here. Making the familiar strange. But getting stuck on the strange, whilst wearing high heels on a hill pointing downwards. It's an anger based on pain, of insomnia; finding the few, Freud words to ask for assistance. Help is a four letter word though a free prescription is another helpful contribution to this cause not yet lost. It spirals on. What year is this anyway? It's hard to tell if you flick the channels or scan the frequencies. The headlines I remember. It's the same every week. Sink or swim, buying fear, selling souls. You wake up again at 3am, havoc on your mind, and count a pretty blessing that the light is still vacant and out on a date in Germany circa 1972. Prince - the artist - keeps you company as he becomes a butterfly yet again; a slave no more to his poplife <3. Too. Much. Knowledge; information is a fire alarm that won't cease calling you out at inconvenient times, taking names. Snapping and digging and... true, a deep sleep is hard to come by these fallow days. The frightened sirens are set to stun and singing a lonely duet with the drunks rolling past screeching their merlot harmonies in a fake Gregory Italian accent. Bella. Bella. And all that. Or so you think with your ears blocked, your eyes glued shut. No matter how fast you blink reality still heads for the last subway home. And the rain - ah, the pitter patter of rain steering a boo-hoo path down his cracked, shoogily face - it pours over a legoland new town. The stop/go music it plays on repeat in spoken, reverential verse. Thank-you, she says. I accept your challenge of a warm embrace; this invitation South. Rewinding to take it all in - these last six months. Where did it go? Where will it go next? Something is up. Some leave, others stay. All the while Jackie waits on the other side of Poortoun for his lost and weeping children to come home. To roost.
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Life Without Buildings - 'New Town' (5.54)
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It's happening again. No where to go.
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