Trouble maker, that’s me
raking up the past
digging up dirt
yeah, whatever you say
guilty as charged
no, I won’t tell anyone else
I’ll go away and be quiet now
gagged, that’s me
just a blank space really
no “me too”
A place where skyscrapers and tower blocks
reach the same heights, but the people don’t,
they both puncture the skyline but some gleam
blushing in the sun, and some just smoke.
On the same congested drive, you can see
where the Shard shanks the sky, where Grenfell hasn’t fallen
a charred, skeletal monolith of remembrance
and they want to cover it in tarpaulin.
You can cross the road from the fractured city lights
pulsing behind your eyelids, into fog-grey streets
weighing heavy in your lungs, as you pass
weathered bears and withered wreaths.
The central line rumbles through the pavement,
up into my boots, I shudder with the gravel at the thought
of a city so alive it heaves and retches when it remembers
its flaky skin is made of money, and all its cells have begun to rot.
Don’t judge her,
unsheathing your sharpened knives,
all the little blades to shuck her naked as an oyster.
You’ll find no pearl, only a poison star, set like a bullet.
because the hide-and-secrets grow in the dark,
nestle in eye sockets to be closer to the brain.
Don’t watch her,
inventing her face with a clown’s palette,
lids garish as Christmas, lips gaudy with lies –
heart skewering the tongue like bitten glass.
because the sudden tannoy in the skull
screams its announcements, rallying demons.
Don’t follow her,
venturing closer to the edge than you have ever been
without maps or compass, ignorant of the sun’s vigil,
navigating a dark full of missed connections.
because. the endless explanations stretch continents
and she is rowing hard away from the shores of the madwoman.