Age Of Steam-by Douglas Thompson-reduced


My thoughts of you these days
are grown too strange and vast
to be contained inside a skull
let alone glide along a tongue.
Only in railway stations
those huge cold empty spaces
where yearning steelwork above
filters paltry muted light
can these Jurassic monsters
lurch their solitary way home
transient and aimless
releasing long foghorn sighs
that speak of distances
and invisible loss.

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