i wake and mess through the silence of this morning sleeping house and follow the signs of mike as he walks outside, the door ajar, and watch the creeping smoke as it rises from his cigarette, watch the descent of yellow as the day rises, the contrast of light and industry, the contrast of colour. through the rusted lifting frames of warehouse there is blue sky and i think about the way we are in steel mill territory now, the way that i live in the most beautiful and dilapidated place, so marvellous in its sorrow, in its anger. and last night, riding bikes swift corner down around the corner all the music and noise and shadows and light and feet lifting upwards big shoes long tshirts that had occupied the street half an hour before was gone and i wondered where it had gone to. there is a little curfew in this neighbourhood that jumps down from a clifftop on the troublemakers, and i want to be one of them and wander with my eyes open and see all that happens in this streetscape after dark. see the way the iron looks moonlit.