City Poems: London

All musings, generally result in Little truth
nothing to come of it. Still,
decrypting anything leas only to Circumstance.

Somewhat dawn, the soaking mist
traveling from shanty-town to drafty mansion,
instilling a dour, bred-in Sense of going thru' life-
"leave no stone unturned!" Theorize, perhaps,
little good may it do you. It may, then.

Late-night fog, rolling in
off a River, the stone manors of Founding Families
near enough. The Rest of us, still…
deciding connections.
Omnipresent.
no one has to realize that---it is already apparent