Towards the beginning disasters were accommodated
Among the few futurologists head's, it was fused up in boxes,
Connections seemed to be all dead
When the Sun went down.
The painted words remained unset.
A huge library of photographic archives emerged in Houses;
Bystanders, named streets, sheltering wrong-doers,
Journeymen, out-of-town Guernsey knitters
Lonely Roads, Dowsers reminisce with fragments recollected
left on garden walls to be blessed by royal warrant inspected
or poo bagged for unidentifiable future generations
already attired in their ancestors nakedness
Everything migrated towards an external street life,
It was like الرياض in the late Bronze Age
with many more insects and late night blue skies
One morning remaining dust clouds, Low Flying, dark and unlit.
Something big happened via state aggression
no one Never Surrendered but mortar crumbled,
Into Horsehair, Ashes, Soot and loam.
Resistant Bricks overlooked reformation
Mingling, hidden behind the hoardings
Boulders placed in a repulsive row: mass power,
at best honed determination, eighth generation Old
Beer tins gathered, purple buddleia flowered,
Are these my people or those I'll never know.
(Graffitti left uncovered such a long, long time ago).
