television blaring, washing up in the sink
another bloody monday and framed on the wall
the rectangle of blue. Open the window and
out you go

falling

a blur at first and then resolving. the endless brick
wall rushing past. and windows. frames of light. peoples
lives and the blue above

falling

faces looking out frozen in horror. you have never seen
them before. faces watching you tumbling past. arms and
legs out of your control. shocked that you are

falling

past other mondays. past beautiful apartments. spacious.
nice furniture. civil lives. you fill them in from books you have
read, films you have seen trying to ignore the screams of the
shocked spectators out of context in those luxurious places

falling

and somehow there is nothing coming. just life passing
you by. The windows here have bars. To stop the people
inside getting out to stop the people outside going in
and you realise the people outside are you and you
laugh and you hear the echos from the endless brick wall

falling

the wind in your hair all you need is the sports car and paris
and you are not past it yet. People standing on balconys
drink from elegant glasses. A man in a smart blazer, greying
hair, but you just know he is a perfect gent. He turns your
way and raises his glass to you. A slight nod as you are

falling

and the tears come streaking your mascara and you tell
yourself it is just the cold air rushing past but you know it’s
not. All those things lurking just out of conciousness. the things
you should have done the things you never did

falling

now in earnest. small windows have given way to great sheets
of glass and you watch the other yous tumbling and falling
in perfect synchrony. The dying rays of sunlight picking you out
for a moment. brilliantly lit against the corporate facelessness.

falling

past those offices. You can’t see them but you know they are there
silently standing drawn to watch. In suits and ties, arms by their sides
lining the floor to ceiling glass. watching you. the non-conformist

falling

and you remember another window long ago. Sun streaming in
outside the fields stretching away. Spring bringing life to the fertille
land. And you stretched. Naked on the bed. Just eighteen begining
a great adventure. And everyone always wants that first time to
be perfect and for you it was and the tears are

falling

once again. The sunlight is fading and the electric lights are coming
on all around. Here and there people have strung strings of fairy lights
between their open windows. All around people lean out, shouting to
each other, beer bottles and voices raised in joy. And someone shouts:
“you go girl…” and there is a roar of laughter and it feels like a wave
out in the deep ocean. swirling around you and then

the ground

a broken body on the concrete amongst
the litter and broken glass and silence and
endless deep blue black as the day fades completely