your nebula tires coming home
is it that stars have fallen
or did we rise over ourselves
i get lost in the crowd
which is so important
to the crowd
i hold out my hand and there seems to be
somewhere to put an end
i have a number that means
i don’t understand faces
therefore i don’t recognise
why we know each other so little so well
the night that comes up from our lives
follows us where we stop
to shed a few crumbs
and look at what is left of the horizon