the many places | poem

poetry

Tokyo moulds into Berlin and becomes a street walk,

the stink of a backpack is a book full of unread pages.

new places are never known by your first footsteps,

all of those faces you pass are unknown flavours  

taken from earth, hand fed to mouth.

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night voices replace the dawn rise of a new sun.

no one knows your name, but inside you understand

there is an ab…