Fitzrovia in Mid-Afternoon

The mid afternoon cloud
Past alphabet windows where
Faces of bone and alabaster
Stare on, jubilant
Fingers twirling invisible

The hidden moon summons
The cats
Who wail at skylarks and
Slink across crooked windowsills
On which I am sat after

When I found my influencer
In a third story nook
I pulled out a knife
And stabbed the empty page
With the handle.

Fallen plaques litter the
Like enlarged bottle tops
Which tinkle when the
Breeze blows eastward
And scholars in crumpled dress
Ordain it so

On telephone wires are the
That also live on human
Eyelashes, dancing to the
Sizzle of electricity and basking
In brain scanned contrast,
Distrusting of one another

Below roads where the
Rain accumulates, windows
Are sealed to the point of
Combustion, all gaps and pockets

On blazing hot terraces
Is solid, all that perch
Drift in mist and are
Subsumed by mist
And will be outlived by

Falling imbalanced off of
Are slices of pure sunshine
Dressed in darkest funeral
Gloom, remaining invisible
To supposedly tender hearted

The strike of mid-afternoon
Every part of the city
And as I am engulfed
By cloud and trampled
By cat, I stop to listen
And to exclaim:

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s