Barbican Young Poets 2019-20

you remember

remembering something

that sounded like baldwin

being played off sheet

music and trying to picture

the face. the curator said it

is impossible to have

continuous music

everywhere at once, but

see how the shadows

are

dancing

in silhouette    while   the

woman upstairs is trying to

remember how to sing.

she is a wick

bending under   the

weight of revolution, the

kind that runs across

borders in red lace up

boots and a dress that can

make music just by

spinning. outside

the   men   are

measuring tiles again

trying to map the distance

between now

and   what   was,

trying to map memory onto

pebbledash walls and call

it art.