The poet, thinking about how to write some scene describing plain working class life, invents Dave, arriving home, tea-time, tired from a day’s heavy banter, as daylight

Taken too early.

What do you think it would be like to disappear. To just blink, and be somewhere else. would you freak? What if someone was there? And what if there was no going back?

Skin was made of Angel dust Heart was made of stone Veins were made of broken lace Splinters were not bone. Body of mosaic Crystallised within Images, illusions echoing thin.

beaks pecking at each other in hungry movements feathered bodies shifting for balance

I’d be a vet when I grew up – him – a pilot like his dad.

“It was just...a horrible, horrible accident. I...I didn't mean too. After all that time, I hated him, but not that much. I would've never...I would've never...”