This is my hymn to the cheap goddesses of supermarkets

And late night booze emporiums, the sylphs

And salamanders of chip shops and abandoned tobacconists,

The ethereal guardians of betting shop back doors,

And all the invisible semi-phallic spirit trash brooding

Against notice boards in dim passages leading

To the specialist rooms in massage parlours.

I praise you all, your ineffable and unholy greed, the inverted

Sacrifices you make for the richly depleted moral rot

Of the lawgivers and super-conscious investors in pomp,

television rights to darts matches, rat  cuisine, and perfumed soaps.

The inside-out eyes that you bring to bear on the lostness

Of security guards, illegal cleaners, pill  dealers

At the dead  heart of shopping malls and all-night hospital chapels,

Carry germs that claw crevices out of the impossible dawn

That one day won’t come, unless I sing this sweet hymn to you. 

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