Friday, May 8, 2009


The sound of a discussion that never took place.

You used to think that everything I said was poetry.

The urge to write down what this is: it's incredible. I feel like this moment is going to be lost between us as we approach the car, the words seem to fall behind and tumble like Brownian particles in the puddles… it’s impossible to pick them apart from the raindrops.

Now the car has come between us and the moment remains outside, it chases us along the street for a time like a loyal dog.

The silence in the car is wrong, but neither of us can talk over the babble of radio advertising. Turning off the radio and on the windscreen wipers I hope to break the silence, not punctuate it.

Now the wipers squeak back and forth like the roller of some insane old typewriter and it gets harder and harder to fit in the words before it slides back to start the next line.

Ding….Ding…. Ding….Ding…. Ding….Ding…. Ding….Ding….New Paragraph…. Tab…. Ding….Ding….

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