The road is long and not forgotten just unmemorable but persistent and consistent and relentless and penitence is a shameful act there’s no need for release when you’re sleeping with your eyes closed tight and your mind closed tighter.

No need to rest even on the verge of a mundane discovery merely weeds amongst the rubble of your absolution is a rather dirty word.

Is it not?

Hmmm.

There’s a tower in the distance but its preferable that you give it wide berth for within its confines and golden halls lies the secret you’re looking for though many have seen it and many more have understood it is not for you or even to be thought of look away now to the sun through the cracked sky and barren clouds filled with lemon tasting acid for the pleasure that won’t be yours all yours for evermore wide awake breathing but not thinking again are we?

That’ll do, pig – that’ll do.

Stuck in a quagmire of regret or perhaps that’s just the tide of cliché licking at your heels or maybe just crows pecking at your head as your feet turn to lead and your eyes stare down the train of thought that quickly turns into the light at the end of somebody else’s tunnel.

Still sleeping?

No crime to awaken and enter the tower but just understand that whatever secrets you find will never be yours alone and all that falls will be gold but taken by the rats into their holes and you’ll be far too big to follow even if you’re an ox or a pig which you are not on Sundays in any case.

What things have you seen?

No, I wouldn’t believe not again I tried that once but ended up getting the joke far too soon and lost my hold on the thread that separates the living from the dead and all those in between even though there’s a sliver of light its not consistent or persistent and best left unsaid.

As to the things that I’ve seen well there’s a book in the tower over there but you can never enter or perhaps you can I’ve torn some of the pages out anyway except for the contents and the index so you’ll know where you’re going and you’ll know what has been but only on the carousel in a hail of bullets or pennies.

Never from heaven though never from heaven so go back to sleep and let me dream.

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