Trafika Europe 9/10 - UK in Europe

nine poems

We smell only gutters of excrement and odour hurtling blue lights choking the canvas of evening, where screams of madness bellow from top floor flats; vinegary eyes blinded by black urine, a moon chalked in the sky like a gargoyle stares at the closed gates, chained onto iron lips - a seer injured by daylight.

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