Train
After Max Ernst's 'Europe after the Rain'
In the dark
each sits alone
clutching his flag
I have more than my one death
to attend to
there is a sickness about
and the magician has vanished
But I sit with my twenty six years
spread on my palms
and I wait for the silence
when the programme is interrupted
and the speakers have no script.
And I think how to carry my children
into the sewers.
Roll up the cities.
Let the window explode
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