Oh train the city
Fences you in turns its back on you
Cut through and through
Blank warehouse walls and
Stacks of flattened cars
Clipped branches and artificial limbs
Hypnotic somnambulist rhythm
Awaken there to a station
Tolstoy could die in

About ubu507

memory documentation and manipulation
This entry was posted in art, Poetry, Poetry and Art, Travel and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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