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By: Riff Poynton

The Poem

If this once held glory
No remains now show,
Left, a built over waterway:
Abandoned wall, fossil air,
Forgotten opaque flow,
The sheen of shit caked bricks
Gives an almost organic look
Worn to knobs of brown bone,
Weak waves trickle homage at its feet
In shallow lap-lap bows
But where the water comes from
Or where it goes none now know,
The wet walls seem to ooze
A damp like sweat
In an eternal icy fever,
I linger anxious, not knowing
Which way to go –
Dim lit down every way
And no redemptive distant light glows.
Nausea and nerves root me
There is no ferryman and I have no coin
To help me follow where the little water flows.

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