rooted in a lonely tunnel, shuffled through
piss scented walls drunk on the sheltered
who fumble with homeless love and discharged proclamations,
excreted words stamped on by seasoned cruelty
collaborating with distrust
and in February, just as Spring starts.
And in February, just as Spring starts; the flaming laburnum,
though Nightfall beckons and hip hop from a base car
prowls the streets after Lock-in
and the sky rocks with laughter
as She rocks,
as if shook by an earthquake of words
that made urgent her tremulous frame.
Someone stops and admires the dog
a moment and the laburnum flames
yet these kind words, so long in coming
blow frivolous and collate with the dust
in the corner behind the public piano,
the last bastion of free expression.