I wish I could say beautiful things but I can’t

Graffito left on Parliament Square after riot on 9 December 2010

Split into ourselves, again,
rag-tag clustering’s conjured,
just, awake by chance contingency
and lust.  This singular loneliness,

this deathless death comes down
on ourselves.  Knowledge strains
on its long lease from unknowing;
bones, and light, too soon overdue

to dark and the filibuster of possibility –
tomorrow busied by contingency;
expedience washing wisdom out
of crowds, brickbats and beauty

cease from scorching all things new.
Love picks chances from the spun
barrel of the gun like thin bones
from split fish-flesh – yeses as salty

and sharp as nos to unasked questions.
Listen again to the sea still futile
in the making and unmaking of the land.
Love unmasters when it sings a beauty

that longing can’t long for again.


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