Flat of Angels, Pt. 4

now for the final part of the four-part Late Night Tales story Flat of Angles

written by Simon Cleary and read by me Benedict Cumberbatch

I didn't know anything could be so perfect

the lights of the Mirabal

a thousand swirling eyes

I dream of relaxing nights

there are loads of people in my flat when I got home

I'm already one for big crowds

makes me want to retreat into my shell

I'm looking forward to seeing how it turns out

this is a reconstruction

I can't tell how it happened

there are too many angles,too many reflections

the harder I look at another,the more I see myself

it feels like I'm here alone in this crowd

myself projected round the room

the Mirrorball,a beam splitter

when contentment comes upon me ,I have to find ways to destroy it

I slide the hairs in the coffee cup up its walls

click the Catalan while it rushes and hisses

I danced with spiders

one of those spindly ones or legs and angles made up of lines is feasting on its prey caught up in a mesh

the kettle clicks off

my skin creeps and my head hurts

I need to suffer more

I was feeling too comfortable for a second there I guess

he was there to save me

alone in a freezing wooden flawed flat which I couldn't heat

he sent me this Mirabal ordered on the Internet

he came later

I'd had no money for a fewdays

he was desperate for a cigarette

I remembered that when I was younger

I'd hid some in a tin full of movie stubs

and limited edition chocolate bar wrappers

I found that in and inside was one single cigarette

throwing the stuff aside

I placed the cigarette carefully on my dry lips and patter caked my pockets in a panic

located lighter and flicked the flame into existence

I drew deeply tobacco and paper

crackling my alveoli filled my blood vessels roared

my scalp tingled and stomach turned

hairs on my arm stood up and so did I

lunging headfirst for the window flung open in one motion

drinking down the black cool air as my mind shrieked

I can't feel my arms

now I'm here who's been a happy person

I work hard and try not to let people down

if they would not be there

there would be no one to let down

things have to be a certain way

there is a beauty in order

I've cleaned this flat today before leaving for work there

I cleaned the storeroom arranged items in

the window smile that the customers

chose appropriate music wrap gifts gave

change smile that the staff told them stories of my past

smoked a cigarette by the bins,ordered sage colored visors from the parlaying catalogue

lay down on the four-poster bed with no mattress

glanced out of the window ,cleaned the windows ,warm some soup,dusted the labs ,waited for the Sun to set,counted listened locked

and then it was time to walk home

this is not my town ,but then again where is?

these are not my people,but is anyone really?

he is here again

wind milling round the rooms

knocking ashtrays over

bellowing to be heard

desperation in his eyes

I know how he feels

but he does something about it

he gets out of his face ,waits for a gap in the conversation

and jabbers his philosophy without solicitation

our eyes meet across the room

and I feel a little like the spider

I gathered the spent cans in a blue plastic off-licence bag and smile as I stoop

how is your weak beam

well work was quite good sold the chiminea last and looking forward to tonight

you've been listening to Late Night Tales

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