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(Just move to the left you are out of focus.)
On the edge? Point of departure.
(Process of Victory.)
On traveling from town to sound with blurry memories of faces
in the 20 kilometre zone.
(Ancient Medina … the exclusion zone.)
Finding a city in love with the ghosts of its past.
(Oh I think we have all been there.)
haunted by the spectre of gas fueled guiding lights,
(and the stench of rusting infrastructure.)
Point of departure/point of lights at the end of the tunnel.
( out of focus, off your mark … set , go.)
Point of no return.
( not one step closer.)

By pram or by hand – or is it by hook or by crook?
(cheek to cheek, left foot right.)
the guiding light.
(sign post in the distance illuminated by discussion .)
Orange storage bins show the way to the back alley Broadway.
(the Gillett street jazz; times off the Thames eleven.)
This is what happens when the ends talk. Remembering the fiction
of plays.
(theatre of the absurd pen.)
long form ideas trailing off from disheveled thoughts from a coffee cup –
perhaps it really is all about style – the tyranny of sanity, this sacred language
(betrayed)

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