It’s old florescent friends
Whose shifty glares
And distant sibilance
Convinces me the mornings here
Are better seen below them,
Below their too-white halos
Where the coffee drips
Are lost in sums of Camel ash,
And Pall Mall embers whisper
Emptied words in nervous strands
Until the feeling spreads,
The seductive passion
Of a cancer touching every inch
Of skin exposed.

And I suppose it’s caffeinated
Doses of the restless insignificance,
Malignant and metastasized
Beneath these blessed lights,
These enervated friends
Whose switch above the wainscott
Makes my day each day
I flip it,
In the dark, before I see.

#London #UK

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