Your shaven pate has the hue of a whole economy

chicken in the freezer cabinet though not corn-fed

with the yellow almost foreign tinge and you are not

kettled because you do not care though you are trapped

inside the centrifugal force of this one-way system

and a mediaeval subway through which I used to pass

though nowadays I favour the sky caving in above the city

and if you with your frozen chicken skull your naked mask

were caught beneath the wheels of an articulated truck

lost east of Leman Street I might stand by you and love

yes love might flood the vaults we share those newly-minted

magnificent and sunken plots.


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