London skies burn ambient tonight,
a St Helens’ horizon
Eclipsing the pilot stars.
Twitching beneath its orange lens
the city expands black and glassy –
Dilated like an eye.
Veiled in a permanent dawn,
charcoal streets crisscross like scars
on a slave’s back below.
The cities’ sirens seduce, entice,
Untie you from your mast
and cast you adrift under Herculaneum skies.
Until you awake in terror –
Hysterical staring-up-between the legs of a new mast,
flashing and winking with manic red pupils.
once a crystal palace burned here,
Screaming windows melting into a Victorian sky;
a clinging inferno in the machinery of night.
Now cinders drift in the afterglow,
Smoking, dishevelled, drunk
homeless and cold in blackening stairwells.
Yet looking to the sky at night,
they see that London at its darkest,
is bathed in human light.