Where is it? Where is that ‘magical’, hypothetical ‘it’ that makes the world go round? That ‘it’ that makes investors on Wall Street hang themselves; That frees their wives in the suburbs. Gives…

The abstract pain I am in Is very fluid. My eyes flood. I urge to latch onto someone. Quite selfish, Stay with me whilst I hurt The tempest sweeps my rational mind in…

Socks on chairs Tobacco, in piles, on my side Of the bed. Contacts lenses container lids In two different rooms. And said container in a third. No space in bed Loads of kisses…

I had a cute website going on, with a pleasant theme I has mastered. The Gods of the interwebs, however, decided to bin it all. Alea jacta est, as the kids say. (Or…