i am more peppered with terror than i had thought.
i am walking toward the bus stop in the blinding morning. i see a clear, shiny sphere and my first thought is "it's a jellyfish. on the road. it's a jellyfish?"
it's a glass orb and i put it in my pocket for good luck.

the gross flotsam of humanity is there. i sit, wanting to be invisible but at the same time wanting to be seen, to be seen to be different and then to quickly disappear.

"are you ok?"
a look
"of course you're not ok, love but we just have to ask"

the light outside is so clear and true it's almost ridiculous to be writing winter. I read about Rachmaninoff and Rasputin and Monroe and try and steer my mind in a straight direction.

Noon passes.

I see Mr Parker. He is confident and I am contrite.

When I think it is all over and I am unpunished and ashamed...
"what perfume are you wearing?" ... before he opens the gate

and I think really? Now? this is what you're curious for?
but I smile as I tell him Angel.

I walk along the terrace, tears full behind my eyes and strangely, newly i feel an urge to walk into the cathedral

i write this

sitting in a scant-deserved shaft of light
next to portraits of rampaging chickens
i seek solace
undeserved
in this, the deeply familiar

there are technicolour umbrellas
along the terrace
solitary
bescarved wintermen walk
resolute
along the pavement

i am redeemed
but not satisfied


and now? after an afternoon of whisky, sunshine and love?
i feel able to breathe again. deeply. which is not to say i feel less serious, but i feel open again, like this had to happen to close this chapter properly, completely. and so the new chapter opens.

i walk home half of midnight, listening to the final countdown and i am seriously tempted to fist pump this perfect night.