Crosby Beach in the Stuck Summer

The rubble extends the land
Spills out onto the beach like no longer legal tender from under a mattress of green grass
Lintels, colonnades, vitreous tiles, bricks from Accrington and Flintshire
Merchants mansions, warehouses, profitable enterprises
All the bombsites and slum clearances of the North
The bonfires on the brick dust plains crackle
All Unbuilded here

Sea softened house bricks like half sucked lozenges
Neutered irresolute projectiles
Fired plankton regurgitated by doubting whales
Bricks like a million unrecorded thoughts, intents, projects
The residue of burnt out neurons
Bricks that can’t build boxes

Turbines slice the fat air
Lack vanity
Like bicycle spokes
Scandinavia she said
Our lady of the sea

Jellyfish fall upwards – fuse with the sand
Great lesions of rust

In the walled gardens
The boosters boost the boosters
Unfurl their exquisite antennae
Tend and succour new words
Write words everywhere
Unveil statues, murals

The city becomes a museum of itself
Feasts on its own memories
Healed by the memory of itself
Quiets its phantom limb
Makes itself invisible


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