Thinking about the murder of Julius

As his name-month swelters

And the Unitarian Doric of New Road

Houses a new busker


The formal portico is like a promise

Of something even better

Rational organisation of things

Simplicity of a sun-shaped god


The flute-player misses a note

Sparrows chip the paving

–┬áNo blood on these stones –

The next high improvisation he attempts


Disappears into the blue and out of history.

Columns indent like inert components

Of some unwieldy gear

Which has run down now and lies


Disassembled in the workshop –

Cog-wheels and grease, the smell of solder.





as a break from the appalling tedium of attempting to promote my precious piece of writing – FFS! – I include this lovely addition to the series ‘DM uppers”.


It’s also a way of checking whether I now have my advert as my fixed 1st page.

Do you think I should change the background colour on this contraption?