in an air conditioned supermarket 

I had an existentialist crisis in an aisle of mayonnaise, too many choices and to much colour, I dropped my basket and fled to the door, down the hallway and through the cobbled lanes – 

I hummed the last song I heard, threw my wallet in the bin and headed for the trees forgetting all my passwords 
the crematorium chimney reached up – it’s brick arm searching for stars – the smoke became the clouds and it rained dust for days
Roman numerals have always confused the hell out of me
Mummy, it’s all connected and it’s all collapsing


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