cold case

The room reeked 

of smoke and beer and sweat. 

I hauled the window open.   

The ribbon of a breeze 

fluttered on my cheek.  

It would rain soon.

The world outside 

wouldn't be mine 

for at least a few more hours.  


I went back to bed,

flicked through books,

smoked cigarettes,

trawled the internet:

my mind a waiting room

where thoughts and fantasies 

wandered in and out.


This is her world- 

and I have to get out of it.


The morning coffee wasn’t much.  

It made me think of her.  

I peered onto the street.  


Does she think of me ?


Sheets of rain divided 

all the objects from themselves: 

the trees the cars the houses 

stood without a function. 


I pictured her.  


Her life was over.   

She would be forgotten:-  

that was her punishment.  

But her crime, its half-life, 

would go on living.

Poisoning the lives 

of her victims.  

Leaving each to subsist 

upon a ruined life. 

Some take root again, 

most wither.

To live in hope is foolish, 

sayeth the foolish-wise. 

Yet happiness may often rise 

within the most infernal element.