Night meets me near Ladbroke Grove / with a warm June morning in my hands / in the story I am trying to tell / what doesn’t fit is part of the hole / a heart split across its middle reveals a pool / a painted minaret shelters St. Anthony / I am here alone without the silent march / I will act natural in this freezing underpass / sketchier than I remember / exercise a little memorial discipline / not jump / or be seen to write this down / “The Innocence of Children”, by Molly aged 18 months / “Pets we’er killed too” / “Every morning rise with the people” / “Glass trees have no roots” / the vents make it smell like someone’s kitchen / I wish I had brought a dishful of candles / a lighter at least / seriously / our lady of perpetual help / tinsel / strawberry drink

*

Night meets me at the end of the road / with a warm June morning in my hands / in the story I am trying to tell / Michael Smithyman murdered his girlfriend in the 90s / claimed to witness the fire in New Cross / transitioned in prison to Michelle / denied the claim / / has no recollection / no further meaningful lines of enquiry / the story lives inside the house / in a video the anchor pulls the curtains closed in a reconstructed morning / a friend sends me a link to the burning tower effigy / in the 80s people sent letters / I am not convinced the people in the video actually find themselves funny / I read about Smithyman again / I wish it wasn’t so soon / I wish the outcome mattered / I wish I had watched the whole inquiry / I wish I could relax / around the man claiming to be the official underpass muralist / asking me why I have no money / the columns read: / S T R E N G T H

Chemical

And all of their ghosts are burning

above the city. Some fires burn

pink as damaged blossom.

Those broken vessels, bruised, lit

and upward streaking, rose-hot capillaries

ignite the dead’s ragged cloth and unshrooms

them to gas. Screaming crackle. Frayed spirit,

unbecoming black we think makes up the unseen,

but that black is the last twisted shape

their bodies will take. The floor, the rooms,

liquid windows part absence, part gas.

And then the wind breathes sideways:

their soot is scattered, ghosts of the now-gone

dragged out of hereafter back to tonight,

back to the cold air making its way towards

a darker past, the true past, there at spirit level.

Blank

_____ was loved by all, loved more now that –

Thousands of people are calling on the government to allow him to stay.

It wasn’t _____’s fault, different papers gave different figures –

He raced towards the ferocious blaze which engulfed his neighbour’s home.

_____ had been lying face-down when the fire-fighters –

After hearing screams of terror from those trapped inside.

No-one recognised the body, no-one had anything to say to –

He, who has lived in the UK for 16 years,

is facing deportation and fears for his safety.