The City squares away her fractal tetris,
caked in tarmac, grit and gold.
the earth beneath her stirring, reckless.
Sodden sand would loose her hold.
Her Orpheus, her dark Columbus,
The Reverend steps through hidden veins,
below the trains and one-pot Thames
he paces out his quiet reign.
Above, our Eden rough and tumble
lives recycled by the bridge.
Deserted streets past peak hour rumble
flushed with fungal genesis.
Tonight we found a cache of bounty.
A careless truck left stock behind
Rainbow liquor, crated, candied
painting tongues and lolling minds.
The fire burnt its brand of blessing
on a flush of crowns all mussed and old,
unhinged monarchs of shifty nations
and shy faced cards who's tricks unfold
Dawn will hear my last Hoorah,
a drum roll for the final beat
no bowing soft, no last encore.
I feel some jagged piece retreat.
Stirring through the smoky column,
through the bridge to catch a train.
It finds the close packed 7.05
grey faced souls. Begins again.
The phantom finds another partner
between the barely conscious minds,
some wrapped in happy bedlam, others
glued to lurv in sticky binds.
I watch him jump with new awareness
a sudden flash of widened eyes,
too raw for pressing mobs, he panics
I wish him luck and say
Goodbye.
Entry for the Wordmongers' Masque: Poets' Ball