Duplex Flat

Someone will pay cash, gold for the cracks
Which hang on the wall - the patches
Of unfinished business, the dust,
Dead matches, all the spaces
We eked out of stone - sold off.
They can have the lot: fridge-freezer,
Washing machine, waxed and whittled
Wooden wall-to-ceiling doorframes,
The staircase, the height of it - plans,
A loft - smashed through breezeblocks
Into the council roof - rooms created
In corridor cupboards, sliding doors,
Double glazed views to the dome of St Paul's,
The lights, twinkling eyes, over Canary Wharf;
All under the hammer, whatever, sold off;
While I live by a volcano, studying stars,
Turning the rainbow at the Gemini Bar;
Metal detecting, cycling, crossbow too,
And panning for gold, I'll surely miss you.