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Sick (Free verse) by timfowler

There's a path I walk, a disused line, with fences either side it turns slowly, then runs straight and enclosed through fields, past houses made remote by intervening wire. A year ago, just here, where the dead bridge crosses, I stood and cried, and heard in the streaming rain the clock's slow sobs of seconds, disposed like skin, slipping. It rained as much today, tried hard to snow, and I walked the path again, under the bridge, to the place where you can watch the trains, feel the vibration in your sodden shoes of a heavy line, meant for steel or stone, but empty, empty, empty

god'swife 1-Sep-02/1:45 PM
I'm having trouble with all the commas. I tend to overuse them myself. Otherwise good, particularly the last stanza, it's pretty and careworn.




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