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June 21, 2004 - A poem about Journeys

Standard Class.

I see the whole world, in carriage
No. 9, chicken stacked on shunted track
awkwardly aligned by destination
as footfall clunk and rhythm of ride.
Out of my window, stop-motion towns
like snapshot blink and snatch
assembled strobelights in the blur
from greenhill up and down
to grey high rise and logo crown.
But seated linear in the curve of life
I see without look, know without feel
feigning sleep for fear of settled gaze
or locking eyes and furtive glance.
I want to steal words of muted commune
to rustle the headlines of everyday lives
but I’m quietened in thievery of thought
whilst a pinched announcer interrupts.


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