London As the Lieu

Until recently, I had the impression Of decaying Along with the moral standards Of contemporary Europe, With London as the lieu To which all Autoroutes lead.   In my room, I was surrounded By debris Of my existence, Lacking the will even to clear The carpet, whose colour, Incidentally I came to forget.   I ceaselessly tampered with my hair, Growing it long, Having it cropped, hennaing it red, Dyeing it blue-black, bleaching it near-white; It fell out in bunches, Dessicated and exhausted.   My face grew sallow and haggard, With bloodshot, inflamed, Glazed, blue-ringed orbs, And bitten, bloated, ravaged lips. My body lost its athletic aspect, And became shapeless and emaciated. ("London as the Lieu", which first existed in prose form as part of an absurd - which is to say entirely fictional - unfinished story, dates from the '80s.)