The mocker is never taken seriously when he is most serious.

There are so many alternatives.

There is blue, there is black. There is walking, there is running. There is fish, there is door. There seems to be nothing left to the imagination any more.

There is you sitting in a green plastic chair. You wear a light blue shirt, thin, yet suitable for this time of year. Your trousers are tan, but some refer to them as bone. You smile and feel pleased with yourself, You have had nature explained to you but now find yourself bored with it.

There are no more questions left.

I found myself perched up on the roof. It was raining. At least it felt like rain. There were no monkeys on the rooftop, only sparrows. Yet the sparrows were rats and the rats were cats and the cats all wore bright orange raincoats badly stitched up.

So I jumped.

This is a low.

And frankly, it causes me no end of worry.

I forget things all the time. Big hats. Big hats don't mean anything to me these days. The rum rebellion does not seem all that important and I'd like to know just why she calls me by that name.

I fall down a lot. Stairs represent a special challenge; just as the breaks in conversation represent a gulf, certain discontinuities that can never be overcome.

The end.

To know.

To know when to end. To know something. To be sure. To answer. To complete. To find a point. To locate a frame of reference. To belong. Certainty. Assurance. An understanding. An understanding without words. Dependence without resentment. Possession. Loss.

And it's gone.

Do you love me?

If you love me first.

So it goes.

The cats always wear bright orange raincoats badly stitched up. These cats can't sow. Thus their fields remain barren and when the crop finally came in it was rather less then anticipated.

Here is now and here I am.

Silly cats. They'll never learn.

Old dogs, new tricks.

Cats.

Yes, she's my baby. She belongs to me. She owes me.

But yesterday. Yesterday was a... another day. Yesterday she, well, she walked home alone.

And I'm feeling kind of sorry but I guess I fell down again.

Why didn't I ask where they were taking me?

If you don't care about your destination you don't ask.

I often wonder why it is that cats wear bright orange raincoats badly stitched up and their farms don't work. In any event, they won't get hit crossing the road at night.

Sometimes socks never come back.

This was the last we heard of him. In front of everyone, he extracted his head and placed it gently on his lap, twisting it ever so gently as if to see within.

I have never pretended to understand women.

In green, she did not seem to care too much that she was getting her new shirt wet. I could feel my eyes churning into dust as the sun sat obesely on the horizon as the rain tumbled down, just waiting for me to flinch.

You first.

But it's always me.

Her breath betrays a slight alcoholic odour. A delicate hint of the tropics that reaches right down my throat, into my belly and firmly grasping my testicles.

I am not wherever it is you take me to be.

Not yet, anyway.

It seems as if someone has made a mistake.

In my hands like sodden paper, a thick, glutinous, pale green liquid.

We wait ever so patiently, getting ever angrier by the second.

Somewhere in the background, a brass band.

So drink your coffee and tell yourself all is well with the world. Happiness can't be bought across the counter.

Me and my cats wearing bright orange raincoats badly stitched up who were rats who were sparrows who were most definitely not monkeys listen to the cool rain patter on the rooftop and wait, we can wait.

We've waited this long.

To sleep.

To sleep and dream of love.