Get me away from here I’m dying

London, I’m leaving you
London, I’ve given you my all and I’m becoming less and less
London twenty-third of september two-thousand and four
I can’t stand it any more
You can keep the casual brutality of the tube
The hours lost travelling
A city not built to a human scale
The rootless anonymity of the crowds
The indifference of fear

London, I’m sick of your insane demands
London, when will you be worthy of your overblown reputation?
London, when can I go into the supermarkets and buy back the hours I lost commuting?
I’m addressing you
Are you really going to let your emotional life be run by mammon?
Do we all really believe our own PR?
Are you being sinister or is this some form of practical joke?
It occurs to me that I am being unfair
I am talking to myself again

London, you are a vampire city
It’s like national service – compulsory, crowded, dirty and with a pervading air of violence. I’ve done my year, I want out
A hundred pretty distactions and no time or money to do them
London this is quite serious
London this is the impression I get from a year of busy insecurity
London is this correct?
I’d better get right down to the job
It’s true I don’t want to be in Westminster or drink in expensive wine-bars, I’m misanthropic and maladjusted anyway.
London, I’m putting my queer shoulder to the wheel

As of now I am based in Sheffield. With apologies to Allen Ginsberg.