LOVE SONG TOO LATE
Sloane Square. Startled, I’m hissed awake
by sliding doors, stabbed in the eye
by neon, mugged by a memory.
It’s ten years ago and every girl
wears your face. I stumble up,
appalled. Two strap-hangers
and a black girl in a turban
look up, look down. They see another
psycho on the Circle Line who’ll turn
and turn about the dark heart
of the city, on the run from
the surface world. Hamstrung
by dreams, I am for moments
lunatic with grief. I’m crucified
between the doors as the years
suck backwards - wars unwaged
and buildings dream-bound, tears
unshed and love unconsummated.
For a second time you drown
in the tidal crowd. But this time
I call your name and a stranger turns.
9:16:28 PM 
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