Twinkle, twinkle, little star, How I wonder how long is far! Has your light be stolen or what, Whilst my eyelids down they shut? Tinkle, crinkle, little star, Shake that dust off your scars, Have they ever, ever yelled at you, "Who am I talking to?!" Whittle, sprinkle, little star, Sow the pledges of a racing car, Of a marriage that finally ends, Of a show that never commences. Tremble, brittle, little star, Don't fall now, stay where you are, It's your light I cannot bear, All my skin of you is aware. Now pause your whims, little star I swear, this time I'll pause mine, And to this night again I'll sleep just fine.
The welkin rang…
and rang, and rang,
But she did not pick up the phone
that time either.
Withstanding the hot stream of water, high pressure, pinching her forehead, a bindi around which her universe was built – momentarily personified by lavender and Waterloo Sunset.