Saturday 24th January



Following Mr Black-Black, ragged nail marks down his back,
Billboard woman smiles at me in Pink, too Pink, in passing.
She smiles at everyone she meets,too perky for these streets,
made me feel special for seconds, dumped me for the next one.
Now cabins float beneath us on a lake of dark, shapes
picked out in tiny lights, outsider sanctuary gardens,
withdrawn from the dance at the heart of the city of outsiders.
Salty rocket-gun & Violently Luminous Concord, push their faces
in through our windows as we glide, radio anaesthetised,
I float off the back seat with Animal.

Listening to: ‘In St Cuthbert’s Time


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