A heart that sleeps has a silent love that is never heard
Nicola, 
Paul 
and Vincent paint their house yellow
The below is smaller, the walk is stronger.

The journey to social disorder is closer than you realise
without any drugs.

There's more, you thief of night
with butter dripping from my brush
something stolen from the edge of midnight
unsocial distancing while on free government drugs
Out we go into the world of post-lockdown, 
Brexit, 
with bars exploding, 
brains imploding, 
poets rioting, 
faces masked 
and jazz nights no-longer cheated
words lume soaking up the fusion of jazz in the midnight hour
Better than the Persians, our elegant School of Night
Immortal poets like the wind you are nothing, 
just chess pieces painted with favourite faces, 
your guiding star scarred
Andy M and Samuel Pepys dining at Customs House 
before ending the night at McDonalds
I can't wait to practise with mascara and blusher again
alas my love you do me wrong...

Jean-Paul Sartre came to Stockport 
and had Nothing to say
Victoria --- one hour to Brighton, 
concertinaed into 5 minutes on the 50's telly
and had Nothing to say.