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A moth alights

A moth alights

I had been warm and calm and comfortable, just one hour ago,
swaddled like a baby, high in the skies, in my aluminium cradle.
From LA to JFK, I had boozed and snoozed across the continental divide
until the thump of wheels on runway cleared my gin fogged head.

Driving north on Broadway, the billboards whispered to me in the darkness of the night.
No PowerPoint needed, they pitched their deal in compelling fonts of pink and neon,
their USP a fragile, desperate promise of intimacy amongst the city millions.
Leaving the rental in a parking lot I set off towards the brightness of the light.




OUP 204

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