The Feasting Kind
There is a throbbing in the corridor...outside my door
As if a pipe is choked in London on this Chalk Farm night...
The traffic never stops but then it never did
...it is the same now as it always was in ‘64...the time of towers in the sky
Where flocks of birds fell down from lack of food...nowhere to make a nest.
I watch the feet...the same as mine...the boots or shoes..some tottering
...we intertwine ..but rarely bump
In carriages..dark undergrounds...our eyes can meet..we seek out eyes to like
To know...or maybe love....as friends.
Cities have a heat on which I like to feed...
It is not everything
To make a life complete..
It is a vital diet of the feasting kind..
Which every now and then you have to leave...
And...
Fast again..amongst the cabbages.
Kristine Byrne. Chalk Farm London 18th Jan 2012