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Budapest.

At night, under the best light the city offers,
on the river that curls, smelling and noisy
between the two sides of the centre,
the strands drawn between each bank
are not strong enough to keep whole
an idea until the morning arrives with a grey
that does not flatter in the mirror like the night.
In the day of alleyways and boarded shops
that stand up to beg for money wearing good shoes,
If there’s life in us all yet, in the sound
of the heartbeat noise of the central market
that pulls locals and tourists together, for a brief
pressing of cultures holding at arm’s length
the trinkets and tea-towels.

Having grown up in south London I will always have a fondness for cities, there is though a seediness as well in the ways they always try to sell you something.

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