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
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
Stunned by
It. Not understanding
How it got here.

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