Poetry Blog by JOHN F B TUCKER

IDEAS FOR A CAREER AS A VISUAL ARTIST


1. to paint the alignment of The Plough and the oldest fell Black Combe

2. to somehow represent the bird that wriggled its wing in the wood

3. to forge Jim Morrison's signature maybe many times on the same sheet

4. to use the sheet where pictures grew as the front cover of a book and cut off the front cover and stick it on a canvas

5. to explore the style I call “Noetic Maundering” w...

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COMPORTMENT

COMPORTMENT 

So you're Ophelia - gone under Gondwanaland -
and I'm Prince Hamlet - alas was meant to be. 

What I am gone under I do not know yet, but 
the frankfurters have gone under themselves.

I say either Barnes has scored a chicken
or Barnes has not scored a chicken and 

that it is not quantum - nor is it relativity. 
It has to be one or the other, to be Manichean. 

Still, ...

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POEM

POEM 

Are you washed on the shore
in loose tides of coloured paint 
do you hide in the furniture
like the diary of a saint 

have you given love to art
and got nothing in return 
do you think there is a Hell
where the bad people will burn 

don't you hope there will be some 
kind of helpline you can call 
if into the dark black hole 
we must helplessly fall 

did you dither at th...

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AUTOBIOGRAPHIA LITERARIA

AUTOBIOGRAPHIA LITERARIA 

I wrote my autobiography today,
it was only fourteen pages long. 
(I also have a little childhood book,
a book of poems and a book of song.)
 
My life story stretched from before
I met the bird that wriggled its wing
to the present day, this pretty perch, 
encompassing all manner of thing. 

I was in five bands on top of the words,
but still when I write it ...

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THE NUMINOUS CHAIN

THE NUMINOUS CHAIN 

We've got a long way to go before we get to the moment a pint glass explodes from thin air in an underground establishment in London and its bits fall to the floor. First I should say that at the age of seven I wrote a little book whose central idea was that a clock is only as fast as a cheetah, and in which I foresaw “the ire ii net” in 1989, did the maths for the red skin ...

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WHY THE SONNET FORM IS TOO SMALL

WHY THE SONNET FORM IS TOO SMALL 

Driving home from Millom with mother
she remarked that the massive shadow of a cloud
flat on the side of the fell seemed to her 
to look like some kind of enormous bird 
and got me imagining its song in the ether,
all demented and stentorian, way too loud.
We came back home and parked the car.
The drive-stones crunched on the ground
as I carried the car...

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SOLVITUR AMBULANDO

SOLVITUR AMBULANDO 

On a day as golden as the metal coils
wrapped around the guitar strings on my acoustic
I walk to the park to have an open-air jam.

The fallen leaves along the way are like 
red handprints pressed down on the pavement.
I no longer play that game of saying to myself 

“if I pass that tree before that car I can hear 
comes grumbling past me, I will get lucky 
tonight...

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IN THE FIELD OF NEW CREATURES RESEARCH

IN THE FIELD  OF NEW CREATURES RESEARCH 

In the field of new 
creatures research:
the bird in the wood: 
it was not the demented,
harrowing goose
from the end of Pink
Floyd's 'Bike' if 
soundwave recognition
qualifies a species...

and we also know
the effects of acid
i.e. LSD and of acid-
rain on an imaginary 
species equal the 
same, i.e. nothing...

and the counter-
argumen...

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EARLY MORNING PAGE

EARLY MORNING PAGE

Maybe when you die you can re-
access history from any point, 
go to the Red Indian tribes
instead of Heaven if you want. 

Maybe the howling dog in the night
is my father down in Hell, 
trying to communicate with me, 
who is his eldest son after all. 

Maybe I'll come back as a bird,
maybe being a bird is Heaven,
maybe being a dog is Hell, 
but not the one besid...

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RIMBAUD IN THE POSTMODERN ERA (2)

RIMBAUD IN THE POSTMODERN ERA [2]

 O I've known all manner of photic reverie, 
visionary inscape, plundered real live wings
of Albatross Butterfly Crow, like slowspelling
the secret alphabet of an alchemist of

perception. I've known such a thing as 
post-Einsteinian skywriting coursing 
across the night like a digital stamp collection.
I've seen a cloud of powder'd light billow in 

...

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A FLATTENED IMAGE OF TIME

A FLATTENED IMAGE OF TIME

Flat is the background where before it was hills
where Night walked in Gore-tex leather boots,
wearing the wingspan of fresh, adrenaline deer.

Flat is the background where once before
life carved a tune and a colourful continuum from
the daily papers addressing their new blues.

Flat is the background where before dimension
extended to all things, flat is the...

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INSTANT TRAVEL

INSTANT TRAVEL

“Il faut que je m'en aille,” muttered Rimbaud.
A breakfast of every snooker ball colour 
and then the white plate left soaking 
in Fairy Liquid bubbles. We have to have 

a sense of Homeric adventure: to go
from one end of the sparetime continuum to the other,
its poles of faith and doubt becoming 
misconceived as positive and negative

energy swirling in the void. Like...

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MAY

MAY

May mandibles mumble “marry me!”
to the pulchritudinous, nubile sylph
of dreams, and who knows, may she
answer “yes I'll be your wife,”
and may we all grow up to be
now and here and real in life.

Feeling too, proving love not death...
and may we park the driverless car
and be cool, not know sexual dearth,
but know of her soft, mangled jaw,
down on sentient, rosethirsty earth,
w...

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BEING THE WOOD

BEING THE WOOD

I am the wood into whom walked a boy
who volunteered to fetch the booted-away ball
from in my big heart and I can say
the boy was as my story, so tall.

The bird materialised at the periphery
of his vision and walked like walking
fruit for which there are no words, only
waves covered with leaves, stalking

him over the ground, gently, on some
sunset cloth underfoot, da...

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ODE TO OPTIMUS PRIME

ODE TO OPTIMUS PRIME

Autumn has come who by my book
makes Optimus Prime in the reckless
compass which we spin. And much like
it comes in huge beer keggs, we bless

the air with plaintive, wistful, melancholic,
elegiac, applestasting note and tone.
In the garden, green and bucolic,
the apples are starting to fall down...

the wasps leave fag burns in their skin.
Northern and slowgrown...

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HOME FROM BARROW-IN-FURNESS

HOME FROM BARROW-IN-FURNESS

Barrow looks better from a long way away,
across the last estuary to not be linked by bridge.
A cathedral city for the sheer enormity
of its nuclear sub factory, it lives on the edge.

The yellow DogMuckels M atop the pole
in the advertising park is the postmodern churchspire;
the effect of global warming on the old
unicorn a postmodern id. When I lived there

...

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TESTING THE SHEET

TESTING THE SHEET  

One of my many menial jobs from before 
I got my first class degree was this temp job:
my brother and I had to do a survey asking 
the public about their taste in radio shows.

The number of people willing to play ball 
was so small that we sat in the parked car 
listening to the radio, filling out the forms 
as randomly as we could possibly make them. 

Once this ...

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POEM

POEM 

In pellucid media such as sentient air
light travels at the rate of the value c
which forms the only constant in the cosmos...

the postman's whistle also carries across,
carried by a bat whose shapely wings make 
it the only mammal capable of flight. 

In pellucid media such as sentient air 
there are also letters to and from a higher
self crossing the media-in-medley.  

We ...

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SIMPLY DESCRIBING A GARDEN AT NIGHT

SIMPLY DESCRIBING A GARDEN AT NIGHT  

The night wind rustles and tushes and shushes
and hushes and rushes over dark earth like a 
disseminating elbow of question and response.

The night clouds obscuring the resplendent 
plethora like Gondwanaland plates have passed, 
leaving clear perception of the moon and stars. 

Down below, the treefingers seem linked in 
a finemesh, intercapillia...

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LIVING IN CUMBRIA

LIVING IN CUMBRIA 

Living in Cumbria, when I was a child, 
“garden” was the password to my 
imaginary world, and there was
a catflap on the radio there. 

Living in Cumbria, I select to 
ramble the well-worn bramble road
at the rosy crucifix demarcating 
the Augustan and the Romantic. 

Living in Cumbria, I contemplate
whether the yellow DogMuckels
M atop the pole in the industrial
...

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QUAVERS

QUAVERS

Proleptic they leave you
somewhat diagonalised by 
omnijective interface of
random access co-imagination

like building an on and off
at once and every second
second bigger than colour 
blogger than space deeper

than memes and faster
than drum n bass multi-media
of mutually assured semi-
masturbation and one 

is not to trust them. Science 
says they are not carbonated
...

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RENAMING REALITY

RENAMING REALITY 

The pills I pop are poetry buttons, my voices
monkey-units, quavers and syllabubbles 
floating off on holiday with rainbow-skin,
and my mental hospital is Monopoly jail... 

I know I.T. won't stand for Instant Travel, 
LSD for Lucy in the soul with demons,
who still happens to be an actual substance,
H20 for my hypothalamus tattoo, ESA 

for extra sensory allowance, ...

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A SIGN OF LIFE

A SIGN OF LIFE 

Why is the news always so dour? 
Why do they never say a new flower

has broken through the new concrete
laid down on the Cambridge street?

And the touch of rain against the skin
is better as a value than heroin?

- I am backtracking to days of youth,
of discussing the power of McTruth. 

And I think sumptuous consummation 
better than mindless consumption, 

con...

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THE SWITCH THROWN

THE SWITCH THROWN 

Oceans smile w/ liquid eyes and fill themselves w/ rain. 
The tide goes out and leaves me lost the last thing a glass gene.

Don't follow me to the resurrection while the blind get crucified.
My weapon Sony's only loaded, only loaded in my eyes.
 
Death will come on black, silky wings but I will not go.  
A soul is endless, oceans severed and keeeeeeeps a perfect O. 

...

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LOOK TO THE PEACHYVAN

LOOK TO THE PEACHYVAN 

Look to the Peachyvan, 
every moment that you can, 
eating sweets on the back of the bus,
and playing Tetris too.

Look to the Peachyvan,
driven by the driver man,
carrying kids to school and back, 
comfortable as an old shoe.

Look to the Peachyvan, 
every moment that you can, 
it's done some miles, it's heard some song,
all the kids say it's a banger.

Lo...

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WALKING TO ICELAND

WALKING TO ICELAND 

I have walked for miles to this straw bed,
have seen unafear'd a landscape of cloud
carved into paths and roads, grasses and hills,
and know of no epithet to place her beauty,
no painted pantheon of seraphims ready... 

the patchwork quilt has lain down below 
as I passed by meltwater angels booting
their balls about in sundrenched fields, 
to get to this glad and s...

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ENCRYPTION

ENCRYPTION

Where once I wandered free on a field-file,
a file-field, a fenceless farm without security 
alarm where all hearts bleed and all arts 
breed, now Hell is very quiet, unadvertised. 
McBreastmilk, McBreastmilk, feed your kids.
Gentle face erasing cream, smear it in and 
let it sink down through the pores of your 
skin to erase your deepest down dirt. O
stars the government tha...

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THE COLOURS OF THE DAWN AT THE FOOT OF SEA NESS

THE COLOURS OF THE DAWN AT THE FOOT OF SEA NESS

The buzzard is the crux of the flux of Time.
The shape of the fellscape – not quite a chasm - 

dips in the middle like dad's baggy hammock
from Afghanistan. The crow is so black,

the grass so green, the sky is so blue, 
it seems the world is in rainbows, remade anew.

It's all so fresh it dissimulates red blood. 
Up here in the land of...

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HEARTBOOK

HEARTBOOK 

Heartbook reborn is the language of eels.
Heartbook is gone w/ all the hurt that she feels. 

Heartbook is blue as it always had to be.
Heartbook the accident that's happening to me.
  
Heartbook is water-pistols, handbags at dawn.
Heartbook under layers of prurient porn.
 
Heartbook reborn is the weather and the telly.
Heartbook is leather and Heartbook is smelly. 

Hear...

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EMAIL FROM AN ALIEN

E-MAIL FROM AN ALIEN

I sizzle the dream of fine red sand
and step over mnts here in my land
I can equate mutation in consciousness
w/ truth too simple to understand 

My blotchy skin might well never end
or then again it might never begin
the password to my imaginary world
started as Garden and now it's Heroine

I've got no alcohol here in my flat
but the smuggler's dropping me off s...

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INVINCIBLE LOVERS

INVINCIBLE LOVERS

I’ll show you how strange and wild
W/ wanton promise comes she
On an unknown hour
Like an uninvited guest
You’ve somehow brought to bed.

All night we’d
Sit and think of history
As if it hadn’t passed,
The great wars and the ancient peoples
And all the silly fears.

We’d think of how much we’ve changed
And how much we’ve remained the same.

We’d think of moments...

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FALLING IN THE DOORS COMPUTER GAME

FALLING IN THE DOORS COMPUTER GAME 

A country w/out times names borders laws 
is only the other side of the doors. 

You're waving for the raven's throne 
to usurp the kingdom for your own. 

We'll plant a solar panel hexagon road 
when we get back into the mood. 

We byte the wave of cosmic sadness 
hoping it won't lead to madness. 

Hallucination's liquid mirror
is often trying t...

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BLAKEIAN STONE

BLAKEIAN STONE 

It's laced with ecstasia, the bright, deadly beck
That trots down from the fell’s striated way,
Split with discourteous unicorn hooves,
Brackish to Blue and dimpling to me,
Brackish to Blue and dimpling to me.

Singing with longkissing sweet-throat BBC birds,
It falls two feet into a sound as sweet
As a kettle drum’s metal petals of silver bliss
That bloom mellifluous o...

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A SMALL ADVERT FOR FREE SEX

A SMALL ADVERT FOR FREE SEX 

My name is David Bonky, 
I'm a knock-kneed hummingbird,
there's a tear up my jacket
 and I heard a magic word:

Trans/ philo/ quis/ ation. 
I fly through colours and shapes.
Lightspeed is my passport. 
The primates are my mates.

A knock-kneed hummingbird table 
on which to land and read
does not seem to me to be 
such an unreasonable need.

I'll brea...

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THE TRITE MACHINE

THE TRITE MACHINE

If the flower-press ending on cannabis = dialysis 
and the love poem hoping to impress Flora = motor
A. E. I. O. U. to the leaves you can leave on all the 
trees in the winter, vowels pure vowels, Immanuel 
Kant will come to thee w/ immanence. I see 
her face too soon on Facebook, marshmallow 
lambs of snow saying sex not cheese to the camera, 
rosy cheeks putting Italy...

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DIET THEORY

DIET THEORY

Language speaks man. It’s full of fossils,
coins, corruptions, ossifications; dead metaphors
that the brain is built of; ghost-vowels, consonantal

masses; kaleidoscopes of colour; word-shades,
word-frequencies. It’s worth billions of pounds.
Words like soul, truth, consciousness, love,

infinity, they were sacrosanct to the Romantics;
but are they simply differences in sou...

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LOVE ON SICKNESS BENEFITS

LOVE ON SICKNESS BENEFITS 

You'll bet I say this to all the fit girls
but I look at you and see only purple, silken swirls
I'd buy you troves of redolent flowers 
the useless proof of a thousand hours

get out of my head, get into my bed, (baby)

To word/ hope/ dream you is not enough 
you hit me w/ the pollen it has to be the real stuff
I'd sip from your eyes and taste your very name
...

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THE INDIVISIBLE KING

THE INDIVISIBLE KING

Who do you think’s the indivisible king?
His name is writ on a butterfly wing

A fireface moon and a frozen rock sun
Collide in a dream and the dyes start to run

But you are still haunting her honeycombe’s shelves
Where vowels are our souls and these words can be cells

You are who you love and not who you are
So set the controls for the prettiest star

The win...

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THE LESSON FROM JOHN IN ETON COLLEGE CHAPEL

THE LESSON FROM JOHN IN ETON COLLEGE CHAPEL

I read through the news,
hats off to your blues,
a chimney falls under my head.

I stomach the wood
that tastes very good,
like mopping up gravy w/ bread.

I glow for the coal,
don't bury your soul,
backwards in spire I get high.

I'd change for the house
that's quiet as a mouse
and emblazon my name in the sky.

I'd slip through the sk...

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READING MATERIAL

READING MATERIAL

If there were paper under my heart there would
be writing on it and maybe it would be red
like the blood-orange warning of dawn-burst
or nuclear-fall-out-in-reverse-of-dusk, whose
scattered, tattered- knicker clouds conceal
real live U.F.O's, and non-exchangeable
for a raffle ticket when the fiver-river drones.
That page, my wage, an underground organ,
w/ its meta-ficti...

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WHICHAM VALLEY AS A SCRATCH ON A CD

WHICHAM VALLEY AS A SCRATCH ON A CD

“The Ancient Greeks thought agriculture the most noble profession” - Brian O' Connell, Greek And Celtic

If a place truly is its own mind,
this one quietly dreams
and falls ever further behind.

There's no Tourist sign to tell
how rich in natural and human history
is this valley by the oldest fell.

The church is built on the foundations
of the old...

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CHIEF OF THE BLACKBIRD SPIES

CHIEF OF THE BLACKBIRD SPIES

I fell up a sycamore tree 
and nearly spilled my glass of wine,
and though nobody came for me
I didn't mind it I felt fine,

for I was trading stories
w/ the chief of the black bird spies
amongst new leaves and old branches
that don't know how to tell lies...

He said to forget the job,
sack the boss, and hang the cage
which containeth all your rage
for...

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SYMMETRY LIPS

SYMMETRY LIPS

 

Symmetry lips         symmetry lips

kiss me quicks        need a fix

make me feel        natural and real

cuts heal w/        a plastic seal

I've been in your heart        and danced in hot rain

I've been in your heart       and danced in hot rain

now consciousness        is everywhere

now consciousness        is sentient air

the sky falls        apart...

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THE FUN POLICE

THE FUN POLICE

The Fun Police came through the bedroom wall,
said 'no gaseous music down the hall!'
My purple patch was decidedly blue,
I said 'we're not allowed to mix w/ you'.

Soon water went for a naked prance,
it was then that Legolas started to dance.
They'll cuff you up in the radio station,
put the microchip of peach into the open.

Noughts and crosses quelled by The Fun Polic...

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THE MAD DOG SONG

THE MAD DOG SONG 

MY DOG HAS GOT NO BRAIN,
MY DOG IS A TOTAL PAIN,
HE'S GOT THREE EYES
AND A BIG FAT NOSE
AND GETS HIMSELF TANGLED
WITH THE GARDEN HOSE,
HE ONCE TOOK A PILL
THAT MADE HIM ILL
AND EVER SINCE THEN,
HE'S BEEN STANDING VERY STILL.

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THE LAST POET'S LAST POEM

THE LAST POET'S LAST POEM

How love and death are best defined
in terms of intelligence distilled into truth
matters little now that this world is gone

under Gondwanaland, and us too;
but at least we can say we lived our lives
to the full, stretched our potential, knew

the impunity of being true to ourselves, which
was only being what we dreamed we were.
At least we knew love under t...

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BLUE

BLUE 

I am the dead man you killed my son.
My car took a train across the boat
over the bus through the tram and 
via the telephone on the aeroplane.
I've seen wit. He's got grit. I can 
beat the Germans five to one baby one
in five. Love is the hope the heart 
literally needs in order for it to survive
without which it can stop. Emotional 
balance is more the gift of the liver.
I can...

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LITTLE JOHNNY'S AILMENT

LITTLE JOHNNY'S AILMENT

Today, probably fallen out of youth,
I g-a-v-e clean away the sheet where
pictures attesting to my own score grew
to my brother who visited me on the ward.

Today, I also gave clean away
my copy of The Lords And The New Creatures
to an Asian-extract film student
still young and trendy and took both back.

Today, I asked myself if I was foreknown
for having gro...

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PURPLE

PURPLE

Voices also told me to write of the 
colour purple. In Steiner homes for autists, 
rational but socially inept, the corners 
of the rooms are round and purple 
because it's less threatening than the geometry 
of rightangled corners. My room 
turned out a little like that when,
as my dying father lay in the attic,
my screen bloomed a numinous purple
light daubing the walls until ...

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BONDING YEARS

BONDING YEARS

“The universe is but a projection of the mind,”
spills Calculator Ptom with innocuous vision.
His G note's green on the red electric. The spectrum
states Even A Donkey Gets Big Erections.

While society falls from a high rise buildin
g thinking to itself so far so good, so far so good,
we board a train not knowing where it's headed - 
maybe wake under leaves in a suburban ...

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