June Blast 61 Jun 27 09:40
A city made of cotton and shit
A copy of Ambit, unread
And Chow-Mein in Chinatown, anything to delay
And in the end, let's face it, we're dead
Black Pepper, Cous-Cous, Aubergines
But the river, the river, it looked so cold
Dirty bikes, dog-shit, fish-wives screaming
Going to Thermopylae with an itching arse
How we fill with rust or sludge, it's all the same
I have no affection for my town
I used to think something would happen
I't a way of delay, but it will come anyway
Imagine someone digging up their tree, and quite unexpectedly, there's me!
Nature waits. It always wins
One second of unmade silence
She had stopped her standing orders, ever neat
She tried the Tate and the V&A
She went to various bookshops, had coffee, looked at Big Ben
Sky dishes, tin-baths, Chinese brooms
That winter dawn, brown fog etc
The weather intruding into glass-walled rooms
These mind-forger manacles. Who was that?
We wake, hoping to say something
What if we all laid down in a pit and had time to talk before the dozers?
Where typewriters go to die
Why say, "Was it me?" Of course it's me.