A North London Love Song







i sought shelter here

as a poor poet once

a wealthy nook where hipster youth

are stuck in ghettos beneath a posh veneer

we had rowdy parties with live music

and red wine drunkenness still visible on

our faces several days after

we’d read shakespeare and drink

until three in the morning some nights

our self-appointed genius was carved on this place

and our legacy on the house rules for future tenants:

No Musicians Allowed



every now and then i revisit

the old existential space

and secretly hope to run into

my nineteen-year-

old self who is probably seeking vampires

in the burial ground or sadly looking

down from the Suicide Bridge

or sitting in a bar in a long

black dress pretending to be

Baudelaire reborn.

I’d tell her not to move out

quite so soon.




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