Anxious faces, tense  like sad, wild birds

Looking through the window at the crowd
Anxious faces, tense  like sad, wild birds
I saw this city covered in a shroud.

I heard a violinist play with head unbowed
Yet all her  ears  could find was wild discord,
Why listen to the Nazis’ fathers now?

I  have felt the future disallowed
Communities turned into shuffling hordes.
I see my London bows down in her shroud.

A few can see, but they are not the proud
It’s  getting late, who saves their vision rare?
I’m looking through the windows at the crowd

The sun is bright so highlights black and blood.
Male politicians stroke their nuts and swear.
The shroud  in Selfies makes a  big, sweet cloud

How do they have the nerve, how do they dare
To sell to us the means to film despair?
Looking through the door at Friday crowds
I  touched their flames, red, urgent; hellish clowns