the night is a …
you know don’t what the …
a stranger message
snow turning to
foot colding wet
    
    
not strange purpose
    
    
an unattributed number
dark evening neon clichés
colours of lost hope
    
    
could be rushed
    
    
could be deuxième langue
wanting a drink
booked conversation absent
    
    
rain glitter the asphelt
    
    
december disappoints
many shapes carrying small bags
but not my books
    
    
i was asked to ring
    
    
perhaps i should ring
another bag under a brolly
not mine