Whatever comes to mind before I alter it with the overpaint of time. Mostly satire, poetry and fiction but occasional unreliable fact, as all facts seems to be today. From deepest Notting Hill. London.
Friday, 3 April 2020
Jasmine in crisis.
The streets are empty save
the occasional passer by
we nod in recognition of
something unspeakable but
The jasmine is flowering
The urban foxes, imploring eyed
are starving now
foodwaste a thing of the past
the streets are clean
The jasmine is flowering.
Knife crime at an all time low
and muggers cower in
their self isolated loathing
mugged themselves by the virus
The jasmine is flowering.
Each day I venture outside
remove my mask
lean in, smell the scent
and think of you
The jasmine is flowering.
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