A Dotty Dance: Silly Questions

If eyes are hidden behind curtain of overgrown fringe, are they really there? If spots are hidden behind sheets of yellow-brown foundation, do they really exist? Or have the eyes, and the spots, departed from this world and entered another? Do they dance the tango together, in an alternative existence, in celebration of their dotty…

‘Bus Wanker!’

Car slows, clatters on by, caterpillar pace, clash of context. “Bus Wanker!” shouts a spot, a spot in a passenger seat, a spot, that spreads outwards until it merges at one – with other spots. A carful of pink youths, blurred, hazy … Making a smudge in my notebook of poems. Copyright owned by Jay…