POEMS ON THE UNDERGROUND
They are music to my eyes
They weep and sweep across centuries and continents
They are liberated from books and shelves
They are ideas without frontiers,
clinging to the edge of reality, sanity, reason and the carriage.
In them I find refuge.
In them I hide myself
- of a morning, of an evening -
travelling into their worlds.
They are the words we need when worlds fail,
when the centre cannot hold its own,
when the Central Line goes down.
They are the subconscious of our town.
They are the tabloid headlines of eternity
They remind us of fraternity
They have no need for certainty.
I lose myself in them.
I always read them twice
and find a different poem on the second pass.
Whoever had the idea, it was first class.