was floated into a beautiful world –
golden boy against dockland’s block colours
royal plumes of willowherb. Sun
grey granite ethereal.
these days the streets fizz with footfall,
markets dizzyingly busy,
crackling with gull-wings and phone calls
the jostling rustle of bags at the lights.
saw so much beauty it rushed from my mouth,
each time I edged towards someone
faces condensed. Mouths smudged and smeared. Or else –
step forward and crowds would warp out of frame.
was dragged into a jarring world,
golden boy corroding internally –
spent weeks scrolling down streets, their flagstones sour
sweat and cigarettes and Stella Artois.
Chased fleeting, rain-dappled backs all the way
into industrial estates –
I spent a day traipsing Hello
was dropped into a barren world
people darted from my clunky steps
I was left coughing in lorry dust.
big-heart disheartened, I departed.
ghosted from mute city to city
countryside. There I found the same people
with warrior eyes. My tongue rusted
a byre roof, my heart like an old creelboat.
know where I am: bottom right corner.
me into white: drag me up and up and don’t drop.
unpublished poem, © Magnus Dixon 2019, used by permission of the author.