North Circular.

I left home around midnight
Past the low, slow canal feeder
And the shuttered shopfronts
With their steel slatted smiles,
Up towards the North Circular
To feel something, beyond the
Writhing calamity, still enmeshing 
Like a limp netted brace of Bream,

To look upon those passing lives
And feel life in turn; whooshing on
Into the black night, nonetheless,
With me speaking words of venom
Into their half-noxious head-lit trails.