i will ride
the blazing bus in the dark
through the station
of insomniac bums
past the Soviet suburbs
of trenches, embrasures
and pill-boxes

i will ride
quietly smouldering in
an aquarium of flame
past tenement rows
through the dregs of darkness
eyeballs and teeth
shining white

i will watch
how the city closes up
into the fist of a flower
how its sandy
underground roots
stir and seek

i will ride
the blazing bus

farther
deeper

into the horrible
hospitality of nature
a damp refuge
of purling moss

i will ride
to try on wet
cold clothing

to lie
face-up
in an echoing spire

to burn out