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Wednesday night, when the world lies low

And feet plough through the streetlight glow,

When time’s just a rippling in waters below

And the past is coil grey mist, nothing-scented

I imagine a train track through the unlight,


Ghostly people behind curtains of glass,

From a different world, of a different mind,

Save for one empty compartment with a thistle overhead

And the future passing by in blurs,

Shedding unseen particles like tears, or rain,

A wall of ever-falling rain,

Torn apart as I in my train burst through

Into nowhere land, and no-rain land,

Into unmeasured land, untamed, unspoken of

And rarely dreamt of

Save on Wednesday nights by someone lonely

Walking home.


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Categories: Poetry

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Andrin Albrecht

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