I walked the barren fields /
‘Tween luxury apartments jammed with cheap clothes racks /
Three years of night roadworks /
Cutting out the cancer of ego and killing the host of joy /
The city stained by churches and temples /
Two a block like chicken joints /
I pray at them all, a desperate circle /
But the bells still only chime the hour /
A metal shutters drumming rattle in a frozen wind /
This torture chamber of incessant noise /
Sirens and jackhammer under your fingernails /
Can’t it all just be done /
An architecture of moods /
Brutalist and baroque precedes /
A crosswalk brush, close tickle /
desire from a shampoo scented wake /
Excuse me are you using this chair /
And can you fuck /
ing believe how busy this place is /
A cold slow rain eats the whole sky/
I, a stale croissant /
Too late in the decade to take up smoking /
A life spent storming /
Public pianos /
And playing until removed by force /
All the buildings built /
Monopoly board complete /
For the rest, just street posters urging /
you Not to Kill Yourself /
London needs you alive /
I write it all down only /
To realise I’m a seventh-rate Sam Rivière /
Youth now like a faded sign, For Sale /
Never sold, never removed /
The rain clears the streets of dust /
and bankers /
Of all but regret
The Barren Field was written on a walk around London in 2018.
Publishing this piece is part of a process of finishing a body of incomplete works (and thoughts) stretching back to 2016.
Sam Riviere, referenced at the end, is a UK poet - Interview with Sam Riviere