Song Continued

And this new voice
This 'me' voice
Is it conversational

Confessional?

Does it describe the Easter Sunday I had with Bryan Ferry,
Or that I slept in the corner of his studio once,
I was so hungover, I think the covered me with a scarf...

It also might have been Isaac,
But Bryan Ferry
is a good person
to put into a poem

What about the time I swam in the Cambridge river
with the students graduating...
Then left my stage clothes on the bus to Camberwell
In blackout,
After getting kicked out of Topshop for drinking rosé
in the changing rooms

The pair of knickers left somewhere in Peckham
after an aborted threesome.
The shoe that my ex-boyfriend
tried to hit my new boyfriend with,
On Valentine's Day,
outside my mum's house.

Various black eyes,
unexplainable love bites,
lost handbags/phones/cards/wraps
My college work abandoned so I didn't have to carry it
home...

And other south London artefacts

I'm not sure I could put these things into a song...
These muddy trinkets
Not beautiful enough, too bloody and ragged...
I always felt the song should transcend the swamp.
I needed it to dredge me out.
Drain my lungs,
Massage my heart till I'd coughed it up.

Like
Ah.
Here it is.
Is it
enough