the clumsy poem you wrote about something you love
the list you made to better organise the things you left undone
directions to a soho eatery where you got too fucking drunk
the list of heartfelt gifts compiled on christmas eve
the ghosts of lines through items visible five pages underneath
bisecting and later confusing orders for a chinese meal
four chicken halls might be the start of a new masterpiece
find a melody and keep it in your head
buy a glockenspiel make music from your bed
scream your lungs to shards singing words your heart admits
are futile and will fail but we'll make the worst of it
it's cold outside, it's raining there
stay inside, there's nothing for you here

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