Sirius Pages home
he rose like a swarm of locusts
a wind of flowers and tube tickets blowing
straight through his shirt
he felt worse than that
he remembered drinks
he had had and fags he had smoked wanting to
look for notes
hired tuxedos party tents inflatable fences
the raw pulsating liquid
strumming through a satin sewer
his sick and tired solution
no longer a soldier of ebb and flow
his jacket of felt and beeswax
the blinding watchful
jumpy morning
smoking
straight out of something
forming clouds disappearing
as they appeared