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8 In the deeps 10 Feb. 2010 It was my favourite transport system. I didn’t know it was a home. And I sought after that! And found it filled with just those For a mental home good! Ask me not where? Ask me not which deeps? It was in Paris! I won’t say in the metro! You don’t know What this is? I’ll say, In England we call it “tube” Subvert it not for a cube! Else you’ll be used in a soup To savour the tongues that taste French Tasty mustard from Burgundy. Desolate eyes on lifeless faces plugged At one another peering as if drugged To plug life off the others; tube ride on And as peering or piercing does plod on Down the deep entrails of the bleak subway Such is life there and that’s the only way! Was once told to pack bag and baggage Which was a fancy to calm a pen in rage Such rage the pen needs for its thoughts so deep And back in the deeps there’s no way he’d sleep. ...

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