I was sat reading Warhol's Interview
in a little park near Love Lane
where I worked in the library
Soho is quiet at 5
fog from Hampstead Heath bonfire smoke
hold hands to cross the road
It's the season for visiting
and the season to sit in the dark
Room after room
I forget who they are
Wait for a cup of tea
and a biscuit drip drop of a tap
bevelled edge of wall mirror
a prism for moon
Someone big
climbs the stairs
rattles a lock
It's tough for me to forgive
put my face to the sun
I need some muslin a filter
tone everything down a notch or two
A crater in the chalk landscape fills
we did it all wrong
I'm stuck decades adrift forward & back
wind blows the train into my back garden
Accidents happen
and we make magic out of them
random pinpricks in wrapping paper
no kidding
an espresso in the drizzle
on the corner of Frith and Compton
We had an arrangement that worked alright
for a few years