dinner is done, noodles from a pan

So tell me: how do I go down into that place where we are simply nothing? Where lights are flooding?
I am confused by the simple, and long only to ignore the stares, sit in a dirty flat with scattered pages and shame gone.
Dinner is done, noodles from a pan.
I watch the London skyline. There are unknown vultures creeping sidelong into wisdom; I cannot follow them until I am eaten black and worldly. So I stand against the grey blocks like tenements, I crave the citadel without blushing. But I am in torment and I know we are dying..
I never braved the rich world, but fancied it some (banality is too dangerous not to believe in, fashion shows our weakness for smallness and fur lining.)
With you I collide the wretched ocean brought to me in the gaps between ears and throat, simultaneously gloating. I am whimpered, and you won't give all my sustenance back to where it is missing, you say we can be pretty some other time. Drowning, delicate, in this brine
The sun is a devil today (can’t stand this heat, it’s driving me to colder cities, yes the blue bridge on cathedral hill, a banished monk bleeding like rancour in the wee hours of morning.)
Get back to the crest of the fallen wave again, we must climb higher than people, find lost shipwrecks and tow heaven back again.
So give me back this bony eye of mine.
And the book on your lap.
I am not satisfied with satisfaction, but aggrieved to find the fullness of daylight at their wing. I want to live in night. Out of the shade of green, below deck. Such incurable heartache in such endurable weather. I can't wait anymore for the final bleaching of this poverty we claim life, for this smoky city to drop into the Thames.
I watch him with a knife.
And I want suffering if suffering kills the pain; I want trouble when there's a war on.
I want the sex to sniff out clean air and make it rattle. I'm tired of being a servant.
Take all my panties and shake out the feathers.
My head is upright, a peacock.
I salute you forever.