I can only listen to Goldfrapp……….
………..the sea is in constant flux at the bottom of the road and I’m sore from the thrust of it.
Years and years of waiting lie littered like paper bags across the shoreline to mingle with the seaweed thrown up against the railings all tangled there like dead mermaid’s hair.
I could scream from the waiting, and a small hard voice in me asks
’’Waiting for what’’?
But I stealthily ignore it. All of my writing is a diversion; it talks of other things, other people, it fabricates interesting stories to entice. While the point of it, the brunt of it seems to have been lost long ago in the existential looking out from this perception at others passing by.
Always passing by.