Morning in Soho
The sun scream of light
is like a cow
offering milk to graves.
I hear music and laughter
in bays of air.
On deserted streets I see
wind of flowering children
set fire to ghosts of wood.
In avenues of sky
I see echoes of a failed star.
In silent bars
I see dances of perfect flame.
Across the river I know even
blood is not glad of wounds.
The heart is a wanderer.
Drunkenly murmuring
is the soul of my empty glass.
Asleep in the gutter
is a God of breathless kings.
Austin McCarron has had recent work in Robin Hood Anthology, Poetry Salzburg Review and others. Lives in London.