Contributed by WJ Neatby, received November 3, 1998

A LONDON BREAKFAST (epilogue)

Raising lists of all titles from unfinished works,
On a morning of stone, after nights of few words.
And the pain of a hundred bells in their towers,
Built up the storeys from stories of ours-
Their tongues are not mine, myself I must hide.
Someone got lost in those hours.

Folder of papers: the great glass barrier
Kept us our disctance. That enemy road,
Where a final goodbye, and the echoes of "marry her"
Die by this morning, and cannot be found.

This could have been Adelaide.
This could have been New York's finest Latte.
That atmosphere film-noir screens can convey-
Puts me on a soundstage,
Writes me a two month scene on one page,
And forgives me if I should forget my age.

Raising lists of all titles from unfinished works
As a morning of stone follows yesterday's words.
Quiet, the eggs are. The bacon fell silent,
And a passing traveller walks into the violence-

A brush past my papers, a
Knock on my table
Knocks me into waking, the
News overtakes - and now
I am desolate-
The London Fake.

It could have been Lucy's face, or
My own needs, or instinctive love
of open space.
But this could not be Adelaide:
An African breeze
I could not trade;
Through this longing,
For a new beginning,

On a new day

---

Last Five
treasure - Thursday, Sept. 06, 2006
need - Sunday, May. 22, 2005
where is here - Friday, May. 13, 2005
save me. - Monday, May. 09, 2005
nonsense - Sunday, May. 01, 2005

ALL