I kind of forget it is winter up your way. Here, there's always someone out and about, on the make, restless in the heat of the summer night.
Hiya Billy, this is the first verse of whatwas a much longer poem but in continuing it became too structured and too metered and that'shalf of what the writing here stands against. So I scrubbed the following verses, banked any good lines for another poem and called 'stick'.The City also gets might quiet some nights... even somewhere as big and as busy as London. Sometimes it's a psychological quietness and sometimes it's real. I'm in a city here but there's an hour or two where nothing moves and what does is so lonely that it makes up a part of the sound of silence anyhow. X