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Moving Cities

A decade past A small town A hotel room A glass of flat beer on the bedside table Steam from the thermal baths Seasons the night air North an old city Closes its borders South the new Winds me in with Two hundred miles of tarseal In the next room An overnighting shearer Keeps me awake with his Stertorious whistle Nothing in this room Save memory and conjecture Here at the axis of the island Hills, roadsigns circle in the darkness.

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