When I tire of the wellness trade,
chafe at cut-price comfort,
then consent becomes a bomb
exploding inward. I would walk alone,
shake off dreary pleasantry.
For discontent must be there
even in the streets of heaven.
Beyond 24-hour convenience
night thickens in alleyways –
it is the landscape I must tread.
A mask in every pocket,
shadow no longer set by sun.
Air cools to its dew-point numbness.
Nose-to-tail the cars stand guard –
there’s a tinted windscreen
shattered like an asterisk.
I get around these vagrant roads
by cutting corners, taking
a straight line always
across the sleepless labyrinth.
Under the pavement, hidden hills
and buried water courses.
Striplight flickers through the pupil
of a window. My eye watching.

