Spitalfields,
a boy-child sits on the curb
in the rain
tearing the gutters with soggy
books breaking spines smiling
and his knees
hug me tight
give me a hand to hold
softly scold at quietness
fickle political
smoked up in pool of draining mind
do I think her fat?
no - squeeze
do you want me to go?
don’t start flat heart
involved
inviolate
rotten
peach she
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