St Pancras Five Thirty Five

In the cathedral of glass and steel
we pilgrims grow thin; our skin
wanes, transluced by the touch
of neon strips.

Now, our feet hover an inch or so
above the ground. We cannot smell the air,
or taste our tongues. We are become
something other, something lighter.

Even the striplights
are become stars,
reflected in a sky of glass.

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1 Comment

Filed under Travel, Writing

One response to “St Pancras Five Thirty Five

  1. Do you not love the fragments of poetry in the pavement near the Betjeman statue? Every time I go to St. Pancras I delight in the beauty of the embedded words.

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