At Kensal Green

In inscriptions, dates and confidences,

Preserved, rallied, referenced.

A high up misrule

At angle.

Echoed a hoped for


I knew your voice.

Paid for at entry.

There was fire drill:

For the grave has its own music

Flat and wasted,

A note frozen behind cypresses.

This electric horse you spoke of,

Had it any reference to the way

I looked upon you

Riding along the Westway?

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