Black JumperSometimes, when I feel especially adventurous or worn, I put on my black jumper and while away the hours watching TV static. The wool sticks to me and gives me a rash; the fibres rub my skin and make me itch and complain. The jumper is so old the origins of it are a mystery to even me, it appeared one day as though it may have floated through an open window and lighted on my life.Black Jumper by placebojustice
Perhaps it is a gift; perhaps it is a punishment.
The TV blinks and winks at me, but all the while reflects my face, and I laugh. The telephone is on loudspeaker tonight; the busy signal echoes as though my house is a castle with cavernously high ceilings made of cold stone. I write with my head bent and the light to my back, and my own shadow casts a dark circle onto the page on which I furiously scribble, making it incomprehensible. I do not have the patience to proof-read, or even revisit past wonderings. I did, once.
I do not write about you tonight. Not tonight, although you are there scraping