Katowice Train Station
Rivers of piss collect at cafes. Watch where you walk. I eat what locals eat but refuse to tie my shoelaces. Tired smile with auburn beard. Pre-Gothic Post-Celtic wanderlust. Fur coated ladies strut past frozen men in sleeping bags reaching out for a light. A kiss for some short love. There’s doubt and then there’s doubt. The night train is coming. I move and meaning follows. Ten more years with the humble hands of the devil.