London
is a lump of clay. Mostly marsh, though there are hills
And there
cluster the rich.
I’ve
always been here. It’s home. I own
It.
The streets know me
And it
talks.
It will
show me things
It keeps
hidden from you
Because
I belong to it.
The
Thames is long and brown
Sliding
East
to estuary. In that Essex
Flat
and wet. The seagulls bark
In perpetual
mist. The past feels quite close.
Because
the contours disappear
And everything
is grey.
London
is a city
Which
means
It’s
full of people.
They
stream past my window
Blinking
Stunned
by
It.
Not understanding
How it
got here.
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