TOWN
its good to get out there
smell the air and the chip oil
of the
small town
high street
black top
hear the flubflub of hatchback tires
hurry
over
the
london southend rails
its good to get out
out from the painted walls
out where
the
forest
is
a
looming black backdrop
for sundays
and dogs
weekday invisible
FOREST
a green dressed hinterland
a dark pagan outline
climbing
behind
farms scraped brown sea
where the raggedy ends of town
peter
out
in
old cement and empty wooden halls
and
a rusted gate shut with rope
has lost its fence
in a twisted barbed wire puzzle
and
the
dry and solid girth of earth
and
the
soil and fat turns of roots
are
living
soul
and
jazz
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