EMPTY BALCONIES
My thoughts are ephemera, and mostly about ephemera -
the words of a song that was once popular, now outdated,
train window onto a rattling conveyor belt - trees - roofs -
green - green - warehouse - roofs - green - grey - black -
no one on any balcony on any block of flats in the frozen city -
weeds - platform - stop - nobody - hedges - platform - stop -
And back on the high street under a cyanotic winter sky,
flights of street pigeons practice shearing the icy air
into the transparent sliver of a second that is all we are.
Photo: View from inside a London Underground train stopped at a station with no sign of people, empty seats opposite and a blur of advertising text and platform flowers seen through a rainy window onto an empty platform.
Stephen Moran's Museum of Illusions 