I could forget it all on evenings like this—
the names, addresses, even our relations.
Everything could be taken
by the lights of the town in this weather.
The process has something to do with the buildings,
their vernacular of flint and brick,
but there is also the matter of the people.
How many there are … do we know? Can we trust the data?
The dogs at the borders, lapping it up,
must surely just have their own reasons.
And there are dogs wherever a line is drawn.
The map on my phone tells me (not just location)
but that I am quarter of an hour from a drink.
And that is all the news I can handle.
– written by Will Burns