Excuse me sir, how long

till Central Station?

Thirtyfiveminutes.

Thirty. Five. Minutes. 

Thirty five. Another hour

Or day springs open abyss

Before me, that is, before us

Before I can rest my hand on your shoulder

Causally

And pretend not to expect you there

Or you me.

These minutes are unlike any other

Minute I’ve known on earth

They are viscous, solid,

T...

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And now I must recover myself

Left, after centuries of fearful neglect

Washed up to dry on a sunless beach.

And now I must plait my hair

Dull, after nights of washing in grease

The guilty searches for lost affection.

And now I must return home,

Home, where I’ve never been

And sit a while and say sorry, I’m sorry, to me.

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