HE IS VIEWING THE WORLD
There can't be many moments - the jet passes high
overhead with its precious understanding of things underway.
What I see is an evidence of passing, not the passing itself :
all the hundreds of things we assume to understand.
At the underpass, the girls are talking about boys, in the
most silly of ways - geography laces them sternly to their
spot, and there just isn't anything more for them all to see.
-
No riddles make sense any more - though once it seemed
they all did. A man has Pink Floyd playing on his mind - a
horrid torture song, another wartime London;
casualties once more abound.
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