The flags we plant are bloody
Red and burn through summer,
Available for orbit if we renounce
One another and spin
A little tighter – what are we?
Who see another, star-hearted
And human right through to the
Concrete block and call it kindness
To finger loose silver or
Look down. What space
Must we rend? Bruise
midday in our brutal
Privacy and tidy silences.
Can’t
deserve
It,
deserve
Is a
hungry
Word.
We hurtle through a
High street at 5mph,
Fortuned by lazy darts
Thrown at a beaten map.
There are fig trees and factories 