Tristan Hazell lives and works in the shadow of the Westway on Portobello Road. What follows is a collection of observations, reviews, social comment, fiction, poetry, art criticism and more. Much of it is fiction and some of it will offend someone somewhere, I hope.

Wednesday, June 1, 2016

Unspoken grafitti.

I listen to you on the radio
heart racing
in the moments you stop playing
I imagine unwritten poetry.

My time is not wasted writing
what you will  not waste time reading
no time is lost.

I keep my words safely tied down.

Unspoken grafitti on the wall that we are building.

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