The Epic Soundtrack

The soft focus flash
of a slow trombone.
A chamber of sweet delights,
opening and closing.
Shirt sleeve from old Burro –
remember the place in Floral Street.
Old London now – disappeared,
made over and quietly forgotten.
The civil, civic and criminal.
A machine gun emerges from the turret,
and fires.
Slo-mo with no sound.
Settle me down easy now,
rest a concerned arm upon my shoulder.
Taking away some of the pain.
Let me think because that’s all I do.

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