Systemic Sorrow

And in this present moment, on the other side of town.

Another mind aches as yours does.

A kindred Sorrow over brick walls and rooftops.

A Sorrow builds and grows in fluxing rivets, unpleasant surging swell,

renewal taking strength from hordes of sources,

running together, coming together,

into a living organ that reaches into living things.

It doesn’t remain shadowy.

It was never abstract.

And the lucky are touched by it’s delicate hand,

And the rest are stomped into the tread of it’s boot.

Sense of the city

The peal of the bell,



The smell of the city,

The odour of the town’s underarm,

Listen uneasy to the city’s wreckage,

To the plumbed heights,

Taste the fruit, bite in and it powders on your chin green savoury dust – puff,

Squirt of the city, all on your new jeans,

Rings through the sewage’s browns and greens

Thick water ripples, the city runs through

The city’s the spewer that spews up on you.

Swan in the city

Pan fast through the city and it’s brown walls

Pan fast through the wires and the phone calls

Pan fast through the pipes,

Underground the man holes, pop out through the top Torpedo

Look from the clouds Parachute,

Swan, look from the navy night, keep cool in the star’s light

Pan fast over city with a speed unfounded,

Look down, reckless, as the poor stay grounded,

Glide past the city with a soundless motion,

Swoop past the city with a clouded notion of what it’s like to be a rat there

And bear the financial weight and the grating presence of swans.

Swell the city

Flowers on a black background

draped over




wound around the stump

pouring out of pallet crates

apple box wood, dainty blues, glitter yellows

one plant with many flowers

buds and vines encircle

take back the city for yourself

wind through cobble cracks

decorate the station and the hands of the people

crown loved one’s dainty heads

drip out of pub windows

make the street a swollen stream of petals

yellow darlings work away


At night, towns feel different.

Things happen in a different way.

I have vivid memories of traipsing round towns feeling bizarre,

feeling detached┬ábecause something strange or heartbreaking’s happened.

Weird chats happen in smoking areas and outside toilets.

Glass thrown about,


Feeling vulnerable in a sea of faces.

People’s eyes change.

Darkened rooms and arguments you wouldn’t like to come back from.

True fears unleashed as they squabble and blub out words

unheard of,

Lips release them into the night.