this could be Xanadu

 

it is whimsical to observe
an inflated plastic bag
billowing in the turbulence
created by a brute concrete tenement
the random rotation of rubbish
hooked on a rusty latch

a fish gob desperately gulping
the swollen belly of a pregnant woman
her dilating vagina ready for birth
the last gasps of a dying man

for three days it swirled like a jellyfish trapped in an eddy
before a resourceful youth filled it with solvent and his buddy’s head
games like this are escapes that fail to escape but tighten the trap
but for the now it is fine as he floats above the rooftops

Upton Park doesn’t look bad from the position of a kite
high and getting higher until the mind disperses like smoke

here can be Xanadu     

           the sultry Indian women
           discarding their dour western overcoats
           revealing flame bright saris
           dancing down Green Street
           an explosion of Roman candles
           flashes of rainbow fire
           flickering…
                 ….to exotic sitar music

                        the English rain
                        hanging like strings
                        of crystalline pearls

                        fracturing grey light
                        into random spectrums
                        of dazzle rays

                        opaque solids melting
                        into translucent surfaces
                        and textured fabrics
            
silhouetted and pressed against the sky
with arms outstretched, fragile as Icarus wings
in conflict with gravity and falling fast
tomorrow the social workers will arrive at dawn
                                                           like the Gestapo
to rebuild the fences but only higher
roof the compound like an aviary

the plastic bag yawns ever wider
inviting you into the beautiful
enter headfirst and tie it around your neck
ever tighter until the world expires