Travels in the system

Under what wood? what’s good? it’s Wednesday and not the sort of day to make sport of. I’m on my way and there’s nothing new in that. Perhaps this collapse will find a new galaxy or just more burnt out stars Structures are the restraints that hold me down London Town being one of them,…

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Looking at rucksacks

Deja what? here with no view into the underground back to the zoo. got a feeling that the glass in this ceiling is cracked and I’d rather break through it than have to look at it. Revisiting to solicit the facts about tracks and tracts I once pored over, But now I’m under ground. In…

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Mountains or molehills?

A joy to behold back on the tube train and not too cold, it still smells though of stale sweat and old beer sending a postcard, bet you’re glad you’re not here. Well I am, stuck in this cockeyed creation of man no room to move and nowhere I can go, why does the tube…

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Wanstead flats

Here and there twenty minutes is where I write. Sitting tight or standing light on my feet listening to the beat of the rhyme. And time doesn’t care If you’re there It knows that you will be one day. In the underground torpedo I go where the lines go and the lines seem to lead…

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