we'll chat the world up,
making light of everything.
and swirl round our loosening,
to rest at our own feet.

looking deep at the sky,
and shallow at the ground,
we'll remember having done so,
and part ways.


Are there trees outside the city
that will never die?
and never fall?
and never rot?

Are there windows to other worlds,
that will never cloud over?
and never lie?
and never take over?

Is there oil that will never disappear?

Murder will be justified
with words from
a children's book.
These days have numbers.

A fridge, with no door,
falling backwards.