There's never enough light in the day.

Four-in-the-afternoon & the black-lemon sun is already

casting its gothic drama in wizard-of-oz colours,

all thundercloud-grey & brick-road yellow,

sunsets & autumn leaves like

the little match girl

                               blushing & dying,

                                            etc., etc.,

                                                                The story

is always the same & very boring.          Thursdays

crash into one another like casualties    &

my steampunk heart is sputtering cogs     &

                                                                      offal

                                                                               singing

                                   Dorothy, Dorothy, Dorothy...

like calling a dog I've named after my daughter. I feel

awful, thanks.

                                                           &

                                                                    I can

never quite catch the right tone between irony &

WANTING TO DIE!                                           I can't

tell the difference between

                                                    blood    //    the rust

congealed inside my vibrator     //    laughing    //    crying

as the tram brakes hard          //     strangers   //     

crashing into one another     //      asking      //      are you     are you

              are you alright?        //        HOW ARE YOU?      //

casual        //       casualties       //       the courteous nods we pay

one another exiting a port-a-loo   //     communal as the seasons.

There is never enough light in a day.     The story is always the same.

indistinguishable                           steampunk hearts                           singing

I'm OK,          I'm OK,          I'm OK            //            m'aidez, m'aidez, m'aidez