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In praise of Dalston

I care not for the fripperies of Kensington
Nor any luxuries the King's Road might afford.
The Bluebird and the fine boutiques I shun,
Where radiant hosts of accolytes accord
Their reverence to the holy writ of Vogue,
And bearing all the icons of their faith,
What handbags Galliano or Minogue
Decree, believe the glamour of their place
Enfolds some revelation of beyond.
But ah, give me some two-bed Dalston flat
Nearby the sullied racket of the Balls Pond
Road; where from the rot, decay, riot, tat,
The beauty of a wondrous lack exudes
Suggestions, passing, of my deeper Muse.