Can you say you miss a place like a lover?

Then if then I can say the Thames wends its way through my waking, 

and even the thought of a Heath roll ramble brings high hearts to my beating soul, 

some drunk Camden shit-camera red-stripe abandon fills 

the clavicle I left on Finchley rd when I scrambled so far north 

I forgot my poppy-seed inebriate scares and left 

that hated Dollis Hill-scape, all mold walls and 10quid whiskey but 

I found - tucked in Hampstead woodlands, between rabbit forts and acid

Break up trips - some part of that ancient deep and beating place that was then if for me

A scene engineered to let you slip between it

Winging along a rush-walled city, sliding and sloughing and seeking

My own related anatomy

I'm not there when it happens,
I pass by later to see red
and brick and rubble
much later actually
there's already a shrine of sorts
a bus-shelter shape, not even
half-filled
with tacs, the odd photos, a shoe -
these people three, I don't recognise them
it was the thing not the people
that fell, but when it fell and
as it fell more than bodies got
crushed