sioux and buxter
sitting in the morrocan garden
dreads in your hair
a smile, a can of beer
beneath the trellick tower
you gave me your number
suggested I collorate with your son
the musician, the photographer
i said maybe see ya later
and wandered some more
wandered some more and more
into the grafetti yards
the trees were covered in ink
and the grounds were empty
colour but no people
silence, no noise
a thousand little windows
that brutalist building
the world is with you
