By concrete honey-combed Centre Point
Briskly paced towards Soho
Passing illuminated tooting taxis
Striding down the Charing Cross Road
To join a queue of  alternatives
Outside the stuccoed dome crowned bay
Under the fretted signage board
Spelling the name of the band who’ll play
Tonight, at the Astoria

Earnest in Camden High Street fashion
Invested Kensington Market attire
Sticky car...

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We were nearly there
you in the driving seat
him with the map
denim shorts
patchwork patches
grandad cardies
Swan Vesta matches
Me in the back
with Giggly Sis
hippy frocks and
bright red socks
headscarves, dreads
and celtic art
all off to a festival
heard about on the vine
from a bloke down the pub
with a roll up
a nose ring
a quintessential
dog on string

We drove between hil...

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Young and wrinkly

You are not getting old

But numerically you've advanced

No, you're not getting old

You're just chronologically enhanced.

You are not growing up

But of this much I am sure

To avoid growing up

We must become more immature.

We must dance until our joints creak

And sing until we can't speak,

Laugh until our lungs ache

And love until ...

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Asleep beneath a sodium tongue,
Damp synthetic fire-licked stone,
Fake stone,
Hand made stone,
Carpeting ugly and commodious city streets,

Voices of young men,
Smoke filled lungs and wide wild eyes,
Sanguine chatter-boxes,
Impatiently idea making,

Dreaming, cold-air-breathing, nights on end without closed eyes,
Hearts open,
Some happy numbness in the fingers and toes,
All may rest ...

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