I will not save you from the penalty. Are you not my lover still, and you know what to do in times of trouble, O Brave One? This is my house, these are my friends. My car needs repair, my young needs her tea fixed. Help yourself with anything. Flap the duster or something.
They cannot watch the final tonight because the power is off. In the dark, we mind to star gaze and talk about dead things, and a little bit about future – similarly nonexistent. But they tread on in the rain, covering the dead with leaves and mud. I thought I saw your face in the puddle.
Llyod-Webber’s Music of The Night on the radio. Weird – that should’ve only happened with imaginings. She is pregnant with his baby. There on the back seat, another man is necking with her. City lights and passersby sing amorously. Seven minutes before the murder.
No answer. The usual letting go. Who’s gonna do the dishes, the ironing? Who’s gonna lock the door? Why are you here? Why are you still here? You. You. You are not him. You love me. It’s the system of Eject.
After the burning of the witches, what has become the forest? The water washed away the ashes. The wet grass and the cricket, deep in thought.