Dice Advent

I had a dream that the whole world had burrowed to Oxford Street

but they couldn’t get out because the exits were blocked,

so they crouched in the cavernous sinus, vain to hope, as mucus


shadows filled the passages, tripping

the kerbs and crushing the rails, they stumbled

on cars and wedged the buses,


edging and shaving and raping and stabbing,

pushing and pricking and ramming and shoving,


haggling the road shoe by shoe, winning

a block at a time, the store ahead to gain

the door and drown security,

lost in dragging water like trying to hold a beach between the toes,


and inside is out, the escalators and floors punished for autumn,

gritted and gutted and every turn is hit by

coats and whipped by scarves and


layer-on, layer-off, zip down, button up,

a collision of cardboard and plastic, turn, hessian to leg

banging, and screw eye-to-eye contact;



gasp, regain the night air, fresh by chill,

stand aside, protected by a tree, battered in the pumping flow

and now gaze up at a star, picked out in a hundred little white bulbs,



I wonder, and wake.