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NB: Or "Forward Graceless Foreigners Part Two" as its also known.
...
With downcast eyes
He defers to blackbirds
Shyly superstitious, trembling
With still-raw awe
In the milk-sop morning,
His first night in London
What brought him here?
Pale Promethean on grey box-balcony, watching
What is it he feels?
For curbed London
Its bound rivers
And mown grass
For an ugly, inanimate city that
Casts no reflection
Fears its own shadow?
What brought him here?
Shy sentinel on grey box-balcony, waiting
Is it the same
Loveless lure
That tame peace of all dead things
That brought me?
I wonder
With downcast eyes
Tears transliterate sorrow
Flood waters rise from
Cold world below-
By increments
I know
We, who are emerald dependant,
Die here
Like wane plants starved of sun
Does he see?
Pale premonition on grey box-balcony, sniffing
In time he too will lose
Colour and blood and only cling
To the white anonymous nucleus
Of survival by
The skin of his teeth
I’m sure
For there are many
Those delicate lepers
Graceful pariahs
Beautiful untermensch
Whose diminished fragility
Is too much to bear
Wending unwanted through the inhuman warrens
Of London
Mad, tactless, rabid city
You come to hate it
‘Cause its blindness destroys you
What brought you here?
Bright sufferer on grey box-balcony, shaking
Poised to become
Predictable
Inevitable
Hidden
Missing
Lost
Gone
We are
And Home
Is depleted
By the act of repetition
Spread thin by replication
To a few undignified sentiments
To a handful of sparse
Dejected gestures
Drink
Fight
Sing
And so on
Sell heather
Wish luck
Scrounge
And so on
Knuckle down
Buckle under
Become crushed
And so on
And we speak the Old Words with
Truncated tongues
And disinclined hearts
Why’d you come here?
Redheaded boy on a Kilburn balcony, dreaming?
Of sky’s inner circle?
Of heaven’s shelter?
I pity you
If you don’t know
That the dead believe nothing
They are not allowed to…
------ The human race, the only race I know where everybody loses.
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