I stepped beyond...
The station's bounds
Familiar streets before me
Familiar for but a brief time
Bishopsgate - should take me to...
I'm no longer sure
Familiar is not
Familiar any more
The river's over there 
Fenchurch is that way...
I think...
Now I see clearly
But I'm on the southern bank
And I don't know...
How did I get there?
Iron bascule bridge
Glass windowed control room
I don't remember this in the waking world
Hooded figures pass close
Shadowed in a fifties smog
As I cross a muddied waste
Building or other works
make for mud on my boots
And I slide
Helpless in the morass
I can see the cranes now,
Servicing the ships
Heavy rivetted glory making
Iron monuments to industry
Tidal inlets grounded in its slime
Is this my London?
Or Yesterday's?
Or Tomorrow's?
Convoluted half-truths
Of a sometime history?

Am I just a visitor?
To a city that never sleeps?

Martin Addison – 05/05/2022

This is an attempt to put in writing a dream that I experienced last night. It was a weird dream but at no time was it scary – just really strange. I felt like I had fallen into my own Neverwhere – into a London that exists beyond what I normally see. Unfortunately, the words can’t do justice to the vividness of the dream.


    1. Dreams are a minefield to write about and I think a poetic form is probably the best way. Often there are only fragments recalled the next morning anyway😎

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