Arrival Bethnal Green

ARRIVAL BETHNAL GREEN

Globes of light crumble into the Thames.
Free the manic brickwork
Upon the staccato iron freight box
Deafened by this putrid Friday.

Even the dogs are mentally ill
In Bethnal Green, there is the museum
Of our postponed childhoods.
You think that in the interstices

Of sullen grey afternoons
The Fibonacci numbers recur
In algorithms of clouds
that circle are complete numberless

homes planets too that could merit
all our ways or at least pretend to be
an alien resting place
To be like Bethnal Green.

A FINAL REQUEST

I’m the bearded lady
Shrunk to fit the maze
Of wholly fascinated
And tireless gazes.

I’m a cherub
With a cherub’s face
Lost on the horizon line
In tearful disgrace.

I’m a midget in a fun
Factory who can’t bear
The attention of losers
Who don’t really care.

I’m the red planet.
I’m the first man on Mars.
All the alien tripods
Revolve like men in bars.

With boots and suits
Careless wiles, carefree smiles.

LIFE BEFORE ZERO

Are you there Mark Rothko
In the interstices between distant planes
Revolving onto an antique atlas
Depicting the Communist empire?

 Right on the button collides past Event and past event. It seems We are doomed to repeat Everything if we forget. Mark Rothko is a crawling orange ant Has become the bleeding heart Of global Jesus freakdom Bought and sold in each thrift shop. Paul Murphy