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Friday 12 April 2024

The Darkening Green (draft/unfinished)


 Every direction has its attendant devil and their safaris weren't conducted on the bosses' time. For what they were hunting is certainly never tame. And, for the poor, is usually illegal. 

Thomas McGrath 


Under orbitals single rung 

London’s tourti√®re 

little pieces blessed Muggletonians 

found in bright reams 

crossing onto black tarmac 

& songing each tilted

for ears dispatch crowned out over 

the last jarring expansion jolt 

this peculiar English heresy 

fulminated against the law 

diamond grinding in the mulberry 

weeping for Paddingtons Speight, 

the area where a body hanged 

for six days his face pervades eaves

in my memory ornate terracotta ridges 

British Transport Police 

the buzz of the office 

& towers steep slate, 

its four-hipped from below

a straggling place 

to sit on burning metal corrugations

teeth on bars on ledges 

for a sundown leadenness 

which London Stone 

privately owned publicly rended 

you can sit on what withered 

green timber of pub yokes 

what dotty oak & thin staves 

flat hoops rolled over bluebells, 

poppies & lupins of meum & tuum 

I stand on a very narrow ledge 

of typhoon Butterfly World, 

safeguarding insects 

to commit the pogo

out of necessity under orchard boughs

falling to its dapple grey sky 

built to canalise a bad country 

When will it turn? good splendor 

when will the price of it

come down? on Old Kent Road 

not dissected to rind on our teeth 

outside broadbacked old picking 

in a circle of merged plastics.