walking in the strange towns of the north, the epic landscape turns in on itself, beauty hides in mysterious places, a dog buries its head in some rotting carcass, blood still gleaming in the hounds eye, rain drizzling turns to sleet and a cool wind forces you to wrap that old woollen scarf around your head.
everyone avoids you despite your unavoidable energy, a place of strangers and dangers, shadows lurch out from shadows, a flash of cold steel as a blade is drawn, you cast your gaze quickly downwards at the beggars who sit in the gutter leaking their poverty and wretchedness, you pass the confectionary junkies amassed in the crossroads of hope less and hope lost, you shuffle past the hoarders of glittering stones, trading their items and trinkets, you cross the street and dodge the women who weep, their tears almost up to their shins.
some children, the usual waifs follow you, dancing around your heavy feet, 'hey captain, we can show you the sights, hey do you want women, drugs, a good book, come with us. whatever you want we can get it for you mister,' they follow me up the hill, more and more falling out from windows and doors, the urchins of this strange hamlet, following me as i trudge upwards and onwards on my way. 
i stumble over a cat who gets between my feet, i right myself and stop walking as the crowd of children surround me, faces blackened by dirt, grime and industry. i attempt to say something, but just splutter a few desperate words, 'away, away, go away children,' i manage but even my words are crushed by some kink in the atmospheric pressure. the children share a cigarette, it passes around them, tiny grubby fingers sharing a little dot of red light.
the clouds hang heavy, i can feel the water waiting to fall, a deluge washing everything away back to the river, i gotta find shelter somewhere, anywhere but here in this terrible town.
the children are looking up at me, their hungry eyes hoping for something, a morsel, a token an escape but there is nothing, no way out.
i give up and walk into a bar. 
the stench of alcohol, cheap imitation whiskey, smoke and cigarettes, a few silhouettes of men hunched over stools, tables and chairs, a barmen in a white shirt and bow tie, cleaning dirty glasses. i walk over to him through the haze and the gaze of his suspicious clientele.
he seems to get taller the closer i get to him, some strange distortion of light and i'm standing there while he puts his glasses down, 'what will it be,' only it sounds like 'what little bee.' 
those rotten tombstone teeth, and that fetid breath the stench of ancient stagnation, like crypt air being released. 'i just want a glass of milk or water.'
a strange purple light suddenly activates in the corner, an old juke box, music floods out from it, slow and distorted, it's a crackling and scratched acoustic version of 'i saw the light' by the the.
i grab my drink, a tall glass of water, there's no lemons or limes but i don't care, i take it over to the window, heavy rain smashes against the glass, furious wind scatters light into darkness and now there's nothing there, we could be on a ship, we could be anywhere, but where ever we are i'm a long way from home. 
'finish your milk and get out stranger,' some ruptured face says, 'we don't want no poets in here.'
'i'm not a poet.'
'you are poet, i can smell it, its stinking up the place.'
'that's not me buddy, that's your rotting soul half eaten by boredom and alcohol....'
the fist must have come hard and fast because i'm seeing stars and then feel myself flying through the air, passing over cheap scratched tables, worn out cards and some glasses. some more fists, and then i'm out in the rain, already drenched in blood and water.
i can't see anything, my eyes must have swollen, my mouth tastes of blood and milk. i feel the slope of the hill, start walking uphill, body heavy and weary with pain, guts aching and chest wheezing like an old bong maniac. it's no good, i'm not getting very far, the street begins to even out, the buildings become sparse as they give way to fields, a few sad trees lit up by lightning in the distance, and there in the distance i can see sanctuary, the borderline, the gates. 
i must be on my hands and knees, crawling through mud, fingers clutching at the earth, nails black with dirt, being dragged down by gravitational hell, muscles straining with each move, there it is, the boundary, i cross the line, my eyelids are getting heavy with the need to close again, i can't determine where my plot is so i wait for the next lightening flash, there it is, on my left. with one last surge of effort i find my way back there to the exposed hole, the box open and exposed, slightly rotten, half filled with brown water and black mud. i fall inside, position myself, arms crossed, eyes closed, to rest and peace.