The Queen's Own Yeomanry Exercise The Freedom Of The City of Newcastle

for Peter Redgrove

That hour in the rainstorm by the muck-coloured Bosphorous, shaped like a biological diagram of a vagina and penis, I was free for an hour, but only to buy cheap army-boots. 

Nowhere is pressureless, bloodless, fateless. We fall off family trees, we break our backs, and then have to crawl towards a destiny; but all we get are penny-in-the-slot glimpses, an hour at the Bosphorous, then back into the tunnels, conveyor belts, and lifts of the time-machine. No time for Sophia. 

In England I walk under buzzards, in London under falcons.

Ignominy, and concealment of it, is the history standard.

I tried to claim a square inch of the A to Z as my own, to cozen it from the Duke of Westminster, to find it in the Thames as one would find a coin, and wash it in the Thames for auction.

The Duke of Westminster was having none of it, the vagina and penis conjoined in brown rain.



About Niall McDevitt

Niall McDevitt > poet > author of b/w (Waterloo Press, 2010) and Porterloo (International Times, 2012) > urban explorer > radical pedestrian who leads Shakespeare/Blake/Rimbaud /Yeats walks, among others.
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s