100

                             One hundred steps from the house to the newsagent

One hundred steps from the house to the park

               One hundred steps from the house to the lights

                                                                       One hundred steps from the house to the pond

One hundred steps going nowhere

Star

She thinks about falling stars. She misses the sky, the river, the wind.

 

 

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Came

I came a long time ago

Have no friends

Just the streets and the sky

Do I feel alone? 

Sometimes in the afternoon

 Fleeting rush swerving around my skin.

Where?

 

Where is she? In the small airless cupboard-sized room, or beneath the sofa burning candles to expel the wandering ghosts-always ready to steal her voice, perhaps on the bed petrified next to her mother's corpse, on the stairs dirty as mud, on the chair defying her grandmother, drinking ketchup directly from the bottle, showing her ass in front of the cracked mirror, spitting on the face reflected. Where is she?

 

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Walk

She walks around looking for a trace, a sign of a long forgotten sky.

My

My head curses the day I was born

Now

You are here and will always be

                                                                                                            Forget about the past                                 

    It is done and gone

 Now 

 You have nothing besides your shadow.