barking dog

passing car

a single cricket

small fan blowing

voices in the distance,a party

more cars

a child calls out to someone

the full moon hides behind treeline

the cricket fades out

i turn off the fan

cigarette lit

i am still unable to think under the crushing weight of solitude

the air is still

warm chlorine-flavoured water

i wait for something

it is never coming

this sad excuse of a poem is ending

there is no rythm here

no meter

no patterns

no rhyme or form

pour out your soul and black formless sludge is the result

i did not dream