CANNOT THIS WATER BE DRINK:

 

To see Essex through jet-lag glass is to be one’s own ghost,

a shadow of the thing you forgot you left at the back of the 

wardrobe years ago. Time zones slip, sleep  fragments & breaks 

away from night, floating through the day in random pieces. 

This skin I’m in is someone else’s coat, disconnected from the 

soft stuff, the tissue inside & we observe the world through 

pin hole eyes wondering what these mouths are speaking. What 

this noise these languages are saying – are we damaged, are we 

awake, are we dancing or just dreaming?

 

(K)