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.