tightly

i am blasting through essex on a train at midnight. my head is swimming. six pm felt great and now is like the walls are concrete and i've finally seen them for their strength. fuck, nothing sounds right, an old man gets on at ilford and sits across from me and offers me a biscuit and all i can do is smile politely, pursed.

sometimes i wish there was no technology.

i think into the future too often. i meet a girl in rayners lane and she sits with me for a pint and i can only see her future, wonder about the days she'll spend in the front room and the nights she'll miss in the off-license.

nothing can distract me from this. i lean back in the non-smoking carriage and puff away on imported camels but the old man doesn't even flinch.

i met a hippie fellow in camber sands, who blew glass. it was a darkened afternoon, skies like cigarette smoke gathering above us. he kept at it, over and over, twisting and turning the ends until a beautiful vase was made. we stood back from the glow and gawked, minds on something else in the recesses of our thoughts. this will do for now, we said.

there's no stopping my thoughts and worries of you. the fastest train won't outrun them. i lay back in this uncomfortable seat and i can still see you, clinging tightly.

will he blow you into a beautiful glass vase? or will there be imperfections? a melted ridge right around the curve from some smooth shiny work of art.

it's cooled too fast to flatten out, he said, tossing the wasted display aside into a pile of jagged rubbish.