In the wide open space the wind goes through you

a bit

between worlds the Millennium Point rises up

to fall down

The Beach      i hope

triangulates with clouds

just two hundred yards beyond the factory

belching toxicity plastics burning

that makes

that can make your head swirl if you’re not careful and don’t think too much

and wait for the breakfast van to come into the yard

everything hot is really hot

and squirmy on the fingers

Not like being at school in the Woodman

blackened floor points to the sign that points

the way to a place in Ireland – somewhere

that begins with a C – or maybe just Dublin

A castle over the road or something triumphant or Imperial and old fashioned

fastened onto the skyline

measured meaning in the architecture versus –  or in spite of

knock em down and throw em up –  because its stil there

walked all way round it – past the dogs sign wired up

freight van freight yard – the plaque says it wasn’t a Post office

train station – first one to London

mummified cat buried in the walls for good luck

quite common at the time to ward off the ghosts?

or the witches

sketches still blink in the rocking baskets hanging at the window

the tall black hats the crimpled dresses how much for horses on the train?

jostle for their place to make history or be part

Drew a map in biro on yellow post-it

elbow going everywhere across the palimpsest

a scripted wedge offering a hurried translation

the library eye the blob the station

the organ society the sheds the Millennium

the pollution barrier

the roof on the – the garden on the roof….

Everyone’s gonna go there to the blob.

Its not like being at school

in the wide open space the wind goes through you

a bit