Paddington Speights
the remote area where a body hangs
for six days his face pervades
eaves ornate terracotta ridges
& the towers steep slate,
its four-hipped & now the buzz of
British Transport Police
mosaics under a worksong
for tomorrow's roaming junket
on the other side between two lives
roadways piling a victim
of true alienation
& how right you are to hate me
because I’ve got the terrible truth
inside my bones
a bent heart over grey crushed velour
sequin curtains,
this time for hyperpartisanship
was it the strength of guava
that put the vanguard on the rocks
from cloisters to Sussex Downs,
crashing out the Odd
gets buried inside a cloud
of seditious lines from
Rosewood Calf Leathers
kicks me down
this gangway job pissed town
is yours in a sports bags, you can have it
while I hone on taste
at the Ability Grouping table
& comrade solidarity mewls in circles
circle Kangaroo Court
decides due process like gavel nixed
into metal by the downdraft
medicament pall WhatsApp Curse
moonlite the cantata lumpen denominator
sees a spot sanctified by so many
strung up elevens a square of
clemency clove basted
when the morning leaves the
moon approaching
carbamide wash
from the broken pieces
just as well.
