![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbuu8v6eAX6NOlyZeQu1NM9aIJ1tk8kxpUlqquKbxtYX1S5YODvv9qHmN3N-zfZDkyn2zmrjGnLiZ9N3EAEGTExXbfGUsnRlBn-q-Q0udbRgiraNTPZtdqLoPl_TWHMFcf7JW1-BdQxQU/s400/black-face+print.jpg)
GURU OF THE NORTHERN
LINE (LONDON: THE
POST-IRAQ SETTLEMENT)
with a real sub-machinegun
watches me slouch by as
spy-cameras switch and focus,
three suits tap lap-top encrypts
through Starbucks glass at me
tracking suspect poems
in my head, thermal-imaging
for unwise sympathies,
subversive syllables spooling
from my pockets,
incendiary thoughts
leaking in DNA-streams
of breath
as Cromwell watches pennants
across Westminster shadow
‘the only good war is no war
the only bad peace is no peace’
but hey, Oliver,
if al-Qaeda don’t get me
the state will…
---------
black mass throbbing square
in motion, if not in Movement,
ancient imperial streets still vibrant
with warm meat of new life,
paved with pizza-
pack, fast-food wrap
and a guru on the Northern Line
stands his turn in sandals and saffron
queuing in line for nirvana…
Published in:
‘VAN GOGH’S EAR no.4’ (USA/ France – January 2005)
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