At night

because I haven't written much at all recently and also I spent a substantial amount of my day on the Tube:

At night
when I often realise
that I miss our
shoulder-length conversations
At night
it is often hard
to run as I
am walking the streets knee-deep in memory
so intense that I must have made it up

It has happened before, it will happen again

Sometimes I like to imagine my mind
as a vast cellar where I
deposit in big jars
all that should not be;
an exercise in taxidermy
and the occasional promise of orange marmalade tomorrow;
Can you stomach these pinned butterflies?
emotional potpourri
triple marinated fortune
Would you like that with rice or with noodles sir?

Life keeps writing take-away poetry
on a piece of kitchen roll.