The Canal Knows
I walked from the car. I was fly-tipping the Contents of my head Onto the towpath. And then I decided To listen to the whispering Traffic from the flyover. Dissonant notes and Drifting motes. Fermata In the heat-haze. I joined the dots for a while. As I walked beside The stillness, I traced A liquorice line, Trickling through the veins Of the city. A prickling cloud Of midges Trembled in the Tension of cracked Wing mirrors. The manspread of pylons Played snakes and ladders With the long grass, Their power-stance loomed over scrapyards. I followed a fading Hopscotch path That led me through Stagnant pools In sad factories, The skeletons of warehouses And rows of drunken locks. A clearing in the bushes Revealed an aviary Of cans and bottles. A meth nest, Best left alone. The owner, A bird-man With laminated eyes Was screaming at the sky, ‘They're frying up The se