I fell through the escape hatch of Manchester Terminal 1
And landed on my feet
My real life, with her issues and incessant songs of demand
Her cat-calls of curation
Did whine and howl and grope and snatch yet not one thread
of me could catch
My air-bound abdication
Free from my name
Obliged to play a giddy game
My timeless self did bellow
Not so much that I was here
Nor that my days were mine to steer
My brushstrokes were Chrome Yellow
I found myself and too found you
I pulled us into Cobalt Blue
Not that my ruse was winning
Go to work
Kill yourself
Catch your train in the morning rain
Somewhere else the weekend is just beginning
