Beneath a yawning ambivalent sky

Thynne Street shivers in the early dark

broken bits of Britain stir

and walk out scarf wrapped

coughing like gypsies dead from living

crackles scattered on a floor of frost

where life is a Londis of use-by dates

and mars bar breakfasts bought in haste

choking on the fumes of the bank quay station

fragranced by soap factory smo...

Read and leave comments (5)