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Tuesday 24 February 2015

Drone

Beneath the boards
Boards that vibrate
A sense of all but urgency
Into my shoe clad feet

Great fear of falling backwards
Into a non too placid sea
Secured by fine lines of railings
Links that do not set me free

Howl of wind, air resounds
Bound by the old engines
At the clay quarry or factory
Hymns wrung without a beat