Only the deep soily ground.
Warning chirps, Like sirens, remote, broken Magpies with moulting eyes.
Red post-box caved inwards Each day, more brown
Only The deep Soily Ground.
Children carried like briefcases, In their fathers arms. Hobbling dogs with foaming yellow jaws Pulled by a man talking to Ghosts of professors.
Street signs, Bleeding letters Waiting For names That won’ t return.
Vacant Thornhill street Lined with eyeless dolls in windows.
I just can’ t explain Why I feel like Something’ s under
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