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Jim McDonald

November, Early Morning

open sky washed clean by a night of rain
sharp breath of autumn covering everything
London almost pleasant in the 6 a.m. dawn light

leaf mould underfoot and the twinklings of birdsong
I consider my place in it all
great web of man machine trees birds roads
great urban tangle that holds us all
beneath feet spaghetti of cables
above head streaks of vapour trails

there is not a corner of this city that is not full


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