January

Buildings reflect buildings into each others teal glass prefaces forever. The sky and the River compliment one another on their mute attire and they dress the world in grey. Everything is in unison, asleep and unstirring. A watercolour hung when wet and all the colours have run together.
Dead trees mark the streets; each one equidistant to the next and the last. They are planted with precision but all are leafless, barren ash-grey arms stretching out from cement. Construction sites half finished reveal the skeletal innards of skyscrapers. Scaffolding holds these still birth behemoths as well as toothpicks could bear a boar.
Drones of workers in browns and beige. Overcoats in shop windows on tired mannequins who have stared across the street for years, price tags unchecked.
Escalators to the top of Everest, solidified gum that goes to the top and back down to the bottom. Railway tracks on splintered bridges and train journeys to the bed of the Thames.
Newspaper factories still run on automatic, fully functional. They deliver blank stories to empty houses.

last week or before, i forgot.

Laying on a brown sofa; my mind is muddied. Languishing in the effects of an ill-spent day. Future setbacks carving holes before there was structure to take from. Appointments are made, postponed and then missed. Conversations are held not in words but the silences in the midst. Shuffling bodies on seats, undetectable glances.

Plans and obligations lay before me like pencil marks on white paper, pinpointing the space between the previous and the next. So on, so forth and no more.