Not wanting contact

In the corridor Along the walls, a green of mint ice-cream, are plastic chairs moulded grey for sitting in the moment before the cold night coming. Not wanting contact, she slips a piece of paper through the door. — I had an appointment with the renal specialist today. In the hospital corridor I sat with the

Every morning, because it’s wonderful to watch

scrumpled dashes dots and lines between the tracks 09:33 2 mins until the train arrives for Kennington via Charing + On the tracks far from my reach the scrumpled ball of paper speaks: I am a poem between the tracks. — I am quite conscientious about dating my scribbles and working notes. It is a