With my dog and chains
A tribune of the people.
When I have gone,
Stippled where the face of Britannia
Was smoothed away
On black walls and black doors,
The separated body parts will fall into the Westbourne.
My fungal feet will be discarded
Swollen beneath the banana sun,
The citrus moon.
1 comment:
Beautiful, methinks! Thankyou.
Post a Comment