the seas were fake and made of plastic
Over the hill see the stars of the city red green yellow and a faraway peach coloured crescent of light glowing roman colonnade
the comets bus window reflected lights
Coast past handsome Georgian town houses like we’re entering the Mediterranean only not quite like they’re braced: against the weather, grey waves no gentle blue.
huge halo dandelions of streetlights rain-blurred
Sudden bus smell something who knew you’d missed or would/could miss: musty, sweaty smell of someone once’s bed– gone.
misty on a runway in space.
the rattling road
the crumbling pen
A palace of light, signs where cassette lord reigns and fat man crossing road flaps his arms left right like an oversize duck attempting to take flight and stars approach and fade, a memorial, a memorial, a hall of strangers:
it is the City!
It is the city.
(peacehaven to brighon, last bus)