Wednesday, September 30, 2015

In This City

in a city where even the squeaky subway mouse
is blinded by purple, rotten, thin pieces of paper,
heaving and sweating its lonely way to the top,
up with the scrapers and the vicious vapour,

where saying sorry, excuse me, pardon me,
is the strictest form of rebellious art,
looking at you, thoughtfully thinking,
'I wish I could tear your face apart.'

where the noise is not just noise,
it's a deafening cacophony of silence,
now premiering at the West End theater,
'every man is a f****** island!'.

in a city where dreams are made,
redundant, perhaps sufficiently broken,
where if you're good and obedient,
you receive a fake, golden token,

where paupers and pigeons go to die,
in the middle of Camden High,
as they ceremoniously collide,
down by the resting river in Park Hyde,

where the buildings eat you up,
and then spit you back out,
but you get so used to it,
you forgot how to live without.

in this city where life is fast,
and the traffic is slow,
I found you,
and that's all you need to know.