making return voyages back to where it began

this pulse to the place it let out wailing first

and blurry vision took in a world

that would remain as blurred to the day of

this returning

i know a truth

i have a past and carry concepts

names like ‘london’ names like ‘home’

and other beasts in familiarity

will greet me

like a forgotten tribe

in a desert of billboards and brutal


and places

that still grip my throat

but i

wonder what use these recollections

and re-visitations

as if the cast-off can lend new vigour

to the mast less

what of it

and where from such importance

as disinvestment completes attachment

in a  grey of rain drizzling bus station

a post-industrialism of the soul

gazing at the oil-rig

and imagining it all unmanned forever

an evacuated god bidding neither welcome

nor farewell


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