all the concessions have finally closed the luggage tags likewise now unravel – i’ve spent the night in an airport alone even the cleaners have all gone home … out on the tarmacs the rain is a canvas the planes are invisible up in the sky at every counter the shutters have risen only perfumes…

i thought i smelt bad on the outside! now with this insufferable goon solo hacking my insides away only to reveal this succubus (this blonde boy tintin i will revise the absolute truth of that observation – phew! not a good start i’ll say – & how he’ll go on to blow up the death…

look up to the sky and phone me … don’t leave home without photographing it … never wake up when the stars are text messaging … just hang up when the delay starts messing with your head … all your italian credit is dead … gone to the great numeral zero in the magnetic strip…

there’s a boy leaving home on the train – i can see him see his mother on the platform trying not to cry – the boy knows no restraint too young to hold it in he’s bawling – for a moment he is me & i can feel that sad old fear of separation grown…