Sunday 5am

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Sunday 5am

Postby bencurtis1984 » Mon Apr 27, 2015 6:23 am

A draft of a poem I started about walking through a city in the early hours of the morning, and how different it can look to a sober eye.

All feedback welcome!

Sunday 5am

Sunday 5am
abandoned pushchair leaves
no clues, overturned
on pavement with only
imagination to fill the mind’s gap
mind the gap, mind the people
mind the foxes who forage
in murky half-light
where playgrounds turn
sinister on

Sunday 5am
flowers hang on railings
like open questions
closed doorways house
the homeless in blue
cocoons covered in spit
silhouette black statuesque
unflinching gaze across his harbour
He is ashamed of

Sunday 5am
flocks swoop feasting
on the overflow
casting disdainful glances
at cousin pigeon who pecks
at polystyrene box puke
cocks flock feasting
on the excess camouflage dress
does not disguise
a shameless walk on

Sunday 5am
diamond vehicles scatter
a ten-pin gang, red-eyed
lifeless beings pour from drains
converted into a church for the ignorant
crude hand-painted signs scream
deploring me to join the debauch
of Warren’s Stag where identikit
polo-shirt posers neck
drinks and wait for
the rut to set in. It’s

Sunday 5am

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