Jottings made at 84 Longgu Road, Wuzhou
a scorching August
I watch whiteness
dazed at a window
the dust is swimming
telephone lines convey stockpiled secrets
I watch an André Breton love
float on Sunday's river
laid-off trousers dry on a line
water flying high into the sky
Sunday
lackadaisical streets
red light green light and the policeman’s yellow light
sit down for a while
lie back for a while
go out for a while
sing for a while
singing as lacking in mystery as poverty
a scorching August
each person comes alive in your heart only to die
the dying away and the coming to life trace a beautiful line on an ECG
because your life is limited
because in a city
in a house of a few square metres
there are hearts everywhere beating without rest
headed for failure