hexagonals

London, UK

New beginnings ticking dangerously in the dark.

Though apparently, these days they don’t - they vibrate.

Then it’s destroyed on a tarmac. All orange safety vests

And hollow-points.

We don’t imply ownership.

It’s not that we couldn’t,

it’s that when I see the blue flash of your eyelid -

too much make-up, too little guile -

I want to start a beat with you

There and now again.

But let’s not tell. Fall at your feet and say

rosaries till the necklace is worn through.

I’ll not pretend that a formality can cross us

but it’s something this day.

As we bounced round black-box hexagonals

and corralled chairs in dark flashing corridors

lit by laughter and cell-phone glow,

I thought of empty stops and tragic stations

where no one gives orders anymore.