Heat row
It’s heat row
The boards are blazing with light
Move close to read them
Corridors and halls ablaze with light
Find a corner to snooze in
Flights a long time coming
Blank faces walk on by
Limping from long time sitting
Me long time sit too
It’s hot here
Waiting
It’s like I’m on heat row
choice = choice ?
It’s Heathrow baby and there are flights to everywhere
There’s only one place I want to go baby
And that’s home
But baby, I ain’t got no home
I ain’t got no place
I am a rootless wanderer
With no place to call my own.
Now strictly if I speak that way
There are places I can be
But baby I’m looking for my soul place
and finding ain’t so easy
Cos what I’m dealing with is choice
And choice don’t got no answers for me baby
Yeah choice is just a question baby.
Dawn
Dawn breaks over London.
Crimson swathes of streaky sky
Are no herald because the Londoners are up
And already packed into the belly of the slow iron beast
That snakes its way though hollowed earth.They peer nosily at gossip pages
Artfully apply their dark eyes and crimson lips
Sink into the solitude of music
Or sit and blankly stare at the dark walls.
Spilled out on the grey tiled floor
Every day I ride an old grey horse,
It vacillates:
ponderous old sheep –
to infant lurching crawl,
or lopsided oscillation.
I am swallowed up inside
and crushed against the ribs and bags of solitary riders.
Every day I am pulled methodically from the sea.
Every night I ride the crest of the mechanical wave before I am plunged down
and spilled out on the grey tiled floor.
