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viaduct: Image
viaduct: Music Player

Amber and I walked along the viaduct today,
It was the wrong one to usual,
Couldn’t draw it.
Two horses, colour of conkers,
Barrel-torsoed, toddled, toward us,
Head on, a surly spoilt youth riding,
Slightly ahead, mercilessly peering,
Into my right into my eye.

We passed them, or did they pass us?

Toward the end of the viaduct,
Awaited a freshly baked heap of shit,
Expunged from innards.
We’d already past a primary school
Spiked metal defences and cold slides
Go back there, Why would you want to?
You can’t, it’s a fortress of youth.
Just keep walking, follow the path ahead,
New ashen concrete, over an extinguished
railway line,
Maybe it’ll lead to a main road,
Maybe to Queensbury.

But where the fuck is that other viaduct I drew?

A man I forget says “it’s the only viaduct around.”
But the other we wanted,
Me and my sister. But no, we can’t.
We are, half lost.
She talks of wolves with senses in their paws,
Eleven, she is, one and one.
Gypsies’ wagons lay wanton, scattered and tipped,
underneath the bridge, on verdant pastures,
It’s a long way down, seems hard to get to.

“Should we go explore those fields below?”
“How’d you get down?”
“You might hurt yourself”
Amber is with you.
Precious she is, her youth, Ebbing away, you must keep
Life, sacred for her,
Sacred for her.

The skies are open but so far,
Away. Cliched as forgotten dreams,
Our time has run out. Must turn back.
Mum’ll be waiting at the car
She said ten to five. It is now
Five. Amber is high on hamster talk,

At the car, Mum doesn’t lift her head as we get in
She’s checkin work emails.

viaduct: Text
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