and could willingly waste my time here

                        even though it smells of hospital

                        corridors

                        and the walls are balding as paint

                        decays

                        and plaster peels

                        and the brickwork reveals

                        clay intestines.

                        Derisory light pinches

                        though a ceiling sprayed

                        with holes

                        crafting a dingy prospect,

                        somewhere

                        suitable to commit crimes.

                        Window frames

                        nurse

                        broken panes

                        and a latch scalped

                        from a swinging door lies

                        like a fake island

                        in a lagoon of impossible

                        to dredge grime

                        covering floorboards all but conquered

                        by rot.

                        The air has a taste

                        resembling a cave,

                        the description clings to my tongue

                        as my mouth waters

                        like it’s a dripping acid bath tap.

                        I scrunch my eyes closed and catch

                        a smeared breath to stop me

                        taking a bite.

                        I perch, painted into a corner

                        by cobweb tusks.

                        I purge

                        with primeval ivy, flagellate

                        with waning lost feathers.

                        I whistle

                        like an uncomfortable outsider

                        looking for a sign

                        to relax

                        in damage.

                        I imagine …

                        and the obscurity of my thinking

                        invokes an alternative picture,

                        a chamber, a cell,

                        a byre, a stable.

                        An uninhabited room

                        in a tower

                        fit for young princes. I perceive

                        possibility and space. I tell myself

                        I make hollow history

                        as I waste each minute, but I snub

                        my meaningless words

                        and sing

                        to the shadows

                        'fuck off with your time'.

                        I consider

                        one more squandered hour

                        as I unwind.