The red lorry comes for our records
The man who drives the lorry
Wears a red shirt
Caution
The words within are red
But not read
I am in the room
I can see through the keyhole
I pretend I am small
Small as Alice
As if I can slip away unnoticed
Like fog
Not really there
Not really touchable
A little flesh touching
The blue chair
I am fog
Mopping up the smell of piss on dirty jeans
Cheap ethanol and apples
Know your powder
Know your doses
It’s rudimentary
I watch them
Struggle to pluck up a little leniency
They are meant to be the same as me but I am very different
I am very different
The paper star is stuck in the gravel
Crushed
Never did shine I imagine
Just a little bit white
Not white enough to be the snow the red apple lorry drives through
It mixes with the wet grass in my shoes
alchemical magical delusional
shut the fuck up
helpless helpful all untrue
If I cried dust for you
Would you believe me too
I sit in the chair
Stack my words like beans
Heavy ones at the bottom
Drivel at the top
Words should be rationed like beans
Shined like apostles
Spent like pennies
I open the door
The red lorry has gone
I have not gone with it
I will never go with it.
