Beneath her feet, the city

gossips, tarmac tongues whispering

the hymn of her returning.

Every sodden yard of hard-mooned

kerbstone unfurls to her insoles,

black locale knows the girl

& her swell cobalt mind

so well: the hackneyed princess

of slagheaps and monolithic

mole-hills of one-mil syringes.

Doom-town stare of a million

methadone-dawns.

– Miggy Angel

(I just wrote this lil orphan fragment off the top of my head – and as I’m trying to post here regularly again and cultivate a consistent writing practice I thought I’d share it with yous – the above artwork is by one of my fav artists: Gottfried Helnwein. Check his art out it is incredible.)