Pilgrimage (3am)

Where life put its maw to the chimney stacks,
blew bubbles of razor wire, rivets and screws.
Where the river pinned out wide by reed mace
bets you’ll look away first, and wins.
Where Rothko’s canvas warehouse shutters,
and graffiti gilds corroded brick.

Where punched out teeth, a breadcrumb trail,
tempt the flotsam and jetsam, at 3am,
club tattered, prospecting for home.

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Listen to Zoe Walkington read this poem on location here.