I wonder about the travel of sound when I'm down here travelling on the underground does it speed up or slow down does it meet London coming or is it already there?
I also think about ice cream In various flavours.
Where the light concusses the head of the queue and the day sirens in what can we do but wonder
who hasn't?
Never a seat when you want one but always the beat in your eardrum and usually it's usually the left one.
The next station.
Not a station of the cross or Whipps Cross nor Brent Cross I get cross at Waterloo
I wonder I do which is nothing new nothing is.
Putting things on the back burner is no way to turn over a new leaf.
I fall as autumn falls soft and slow a patchwork of evening stars that cover me and only the jackdaws to bother me, but they'll fall silent too