A collonic irrigation of the senses
A flash-flood in the brittle winter streets
All hardened arteries and cracking concrete
The night shrunk down to a row of cigarette tips
That float on drunkly loosened lips
The plastic shoes of the pale faced hooded young 
Caught in short uncertain step in a retail ground zero
A car boot sale in an open prison
It’s irritable vowel syndrome
A black hole with the money sucking out
Here is history in reverse
Clockwork orange with chips
An experiment gone wrong
The lush Thames banks grown fallow
The Romans then the Saxons then the Norman’s
With their armies and their ships have cashed their chips and
gone
The ward doors flung wide open
To the rented bonhomie
The muddle headed wonder in a tracksuit-coated wander
On all lost life that could have been