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All along the street, on both sides, on the lowest floor of the houses there are a multitude of stores, large and small. The majority of them are pressed into holes so narrow as to allow passage for…
It’s one in the morning. I’m writing this poem
in a train station.
What does poetry have to do with trains?
I came here unexpectedly
traveling the wrong way.
Telling the story is risky:
I was…