You cant kill time, it doesnt exist

Its an hour before work,
that menial desolation of faces consuming,
farcing about and talking loudly
making me envious of rest

Its an hour before that
and i am spending that hour
dancing on ice.

At the waterfront
watching the few fishermen
take advantage of this brisk, but
invigorating day,
I slide from foot to foot
yard by yard
to the music in my ears.

Some band explaining an emotion
that doesn't fit with here and now
or even then,
but the sound is sympathetic
to my mood.

My smile is genuine and stuck
in its position by the the nip in the air.

"Fuck you plymouth, for being so,
so fucking beautiful"
I think and continue to
dance on ice.

It is firm
but i can feel the waves below.

This isn't about the danger
of being on ice
at this time
I feel no danger.

It's about that.

A whole months worth, life's worth
of things that would of murdered
someone who wasn't indestructible.

But here I am
dancing on ice
cursing beauty.