The past, I was saying. Not content
with Hawking's chariot trouncing
the Silver Street lights we would
unravel the tape to find Wittgenstein
prowling past a bunshop, Newton's curse
mid-quarrel falling through an open window
as we happen to be passing, we want
to draw into our lungs some molecule
shared with Milton, to criticise the chapel
Marlowe would have seen, when it was new,
before the cables and the videocam.