I walked through Liverpool one in the sunshine, passing the stairs at the edge of Chavasse park. The light catching tiny pinpoints in the brick.
I played a mental game that said I was dead and looked outward to see nothing would change.
An ice cream, I wanted to wander along by the line of fountains but they were too wet
Some loon stuck his head wet to cool down
An Italian couple discussing something sitting outside in the hotel's piazza
White wine in the blazing sun on the slate tables
Dancing with my flake, slurping the 99
Bright blue sky cut by slate grey
We cross the wide road
Pass the red ship, once caught in dreams of radio
I looked up, sun in my eyes at the brown cube
My destination
Dust swirling
Nothing changed