The golden dark undressed behind
all lit by neon beings dancing street gangs
Superman meets Fred Astaire meets Batman
running wild across the sky’s burning map.
Stevie Smith’s children rapping enjoinments
making shapes in the sea, I screamed to them to make for land,
give up floating and face the waves of facts. But they took gold,
bit the bullet and dragged their generation down.
Figures of light fused, soldered tight to Victorian buildings
sorry sheriff badges pinned on the workmanship of ages.
And yet red brick and white mortar catch the eye, fat angel
and farting gargoyle flute the churches, and above the arch
the date cut deep in sandstone still reads 1848.