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May 29th

18:52

and a noise shot out, almost music, but terrible

covered in green mould

crows rising up

doors opened with pinging bells

Gerald seems well and writes chatty letters

He does not talk of his wounds

He refuses to be savage and hides poetry in his room

I asked for your address from Johnnie

I have seen rain and this isn't rain

I saw many strange things in my first seventeen years

I think you will like me in blue!

ice, tempest, thunder and lightning

It's barely OK here, almost like prison

not much wind, not too cold, not actually raining

paralysed policemen

passing soft bread rolls in paper bags to solitary customers

shattering the lens and killing the photographer

skeletons running from their graves

stopping all the traffic in the streets

that melted the iron chest that contained it

the afternoon was flat, grey and ordinary

the back-chat and badinage of colleagues

their empty eyes flaming

They say it was a light in the sky that jiggered

things that once held places of high wonder

those animals that didn't bolt on sight

We have a new NCO

white-coated assistants in slow-frame

You're letter was a wonderful surprise!