Idea of predestiny of souls to heaven & hell from birth updated to modern homelessness. |
Predestiny and her child to a young man I walked past, having put a quid in his cup, on the Tottenham Court Road one night - sunburned, windswept, rain blown, snowdropped - Wherefore this bedless litter on my streets, my squares, like the Tottenham Court, Trafalgar, Leicester, or on Soho? While his timid bleats go unheard, like a lost shorn lamb he cowers on London’s concrete meadows. If luck’s in he’ll bleed from crownless thorns, conscience pricked out other wages. Junk, trickling blood warmth from hid stigmata, pleading alms. With drunken goodwill, I ram home copper bolts into iced palms from pocket linings. Then, as every other, I stalk past. Carnal red, hearts black hackney cabs carry us to worship now’s trinity: Want, Desire, Lust, the God, Insatiety in wine bars, pubs, nightclubs awaits. Tramp past this heap already thrown away; I’ve no want Or desire, no lust for his inclusion in my homed, jobbed London. Jesus must reserve seats at his God’s good right hand; Here – ghosting bright lights in our playland - rolls out his predestiny. Come, find it in the pity of my vicious soul. Did his God, auld lang syne, tread over this green and pleasant land as mine does? Did his God forsake His own, as I? So be it. |