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Sonnet from London

Behind the double decker bus of pain
Above the underground belief in motion
Within walled gardens of the blooms’ delight
There may be clues that lead to 40B
Near Paddington Station and Little Venice’s
Canals grown derelict in elegance
Where I would like to travel in my dreams.
When science falters at its many schemes
The days grow weary where they pitch their tents
The night falls from what daily darkness does
Then I would like to be and not to be
While sitting in the brightness of your bright
Unvanishing and pleasant resting notion
Of eating chips and drinking bright champagne

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