Sunday, 23 March 2014

mornings not for people

before dawn
then dawn itself
folding in on itself
         a time 
before time, 
words wrong, 
before time
before the line
a sentence, a paragraph
an utterance
there in camden
neon lights and random
things and things
looked so different
without people
without the people
in the cold soft light of dawn
without the people
exposing and forlorn
offloading, bits of torn-----

not much later

I followed the grand union canal 
up to the path I know well
 up primrose hill
          the sky was murky and so ill
           the sun it will
not rise for me
or the youngsters already there
like they came out of 
a tv series, a novela, a movie 
about broken dreams
and love and what it means
to be that age
-------a teenage 
     are, you there, 
still? another sunrise
the sun was missing
or it rose the other way
and I wasn't looking

so I wandered back onto 
that old train 
and closed my eyes, 
wishing sleep came
when it was supposed to

and there then, it came out
the sun, in lower marsh
I had a cup of tea alone
and then at lunch 
I went home
to the river 
a home
to me 

a place to be

and even later on 
that very day
I went to see St Paul
I heard the cathedral say
it's you
 it's you again
it's you

and so I crossed the silver
but still the
whispers continued
so soft like the tunes they sung
the men with dreadlocks
and the two musicians who came
up again
and a crowd of ten thousand

but to travel, to travel and to just be
where you're supposed to

it doesn't get much better....
                          than this