as chaucer’s pilgrims passed through south
east london into kent I like to think
they’d have passed close to our house but then
they told such tales       ..

went to the george, just off
borough high street, an old coaching inn,
you can just drink in the past
in here        ..

london borough of greenwich,
there was a second hand
book shop, not that I
suppose it’s there anymore than I am
hoping
the books found a good home

no one believes in objectivity
anymore
but that’s the thing is
the facts

why should I care, it’s not
as though I know you, I don’t
know what you’re like, for instance,
how you wear your hair, why you’re here, I don’t know
anything about you; I merely hope
you’re alright

want to tell the world your truth?
truth doesn’t belong to anyone
it’s about facts
how you feel is something else

do conspiracy theorists get out
of bed of a morning thinking
what if that’s
what they wanted me to do     ..