A Walking Shadow

I used to write letters, I used to sign my name
The guarantee that we will die of boredom
The house that has become your biography
Photographs that no one took and memories that no one has
I know every inch of that neighbourhood
So permanent and blank and true
He thought he saw a garden-door
The lost lane-end into heaven
Nothing happened, twice
The second biggest cause of death among the English
The monstrous drama in his miserable little soul
What it feels like for a robot to grow up
All they are doing is talking to ghosts in the suburbs
Shards of messianic time hidden in the built environment