I have a spare ticket
to a concert on Brick Lane,
do you want to come?
But I have poetry class in Waterloo
& a friend in town from India in St James Park
& two friends from Korea on a plane to Heathrow
& a friend from Israel in St Pauls
& now I can’t breathe
& I want to be everywhere and love everyone,
but there are only so many sunsets
& sometimes I think I’m still only thinking of myself,
but most times I think I’m still turning 18
and can’t find one friend to go for my birthday dinner;
I invite my Aunt, cry in the car and dream about flying away,
Imagine the nights, write them in ink.
How many nights can one sunset contain?
Then it’s all ink, ink like red wine up your throat.
The nights overwhelm you, you hide in your brain,
drink until it drains: messages & thoughts & people & plans &
& then let go into the black ink
that is really just tears
& waking up alone in someone else’s living room,
a glass of water beside you.