WALK
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udden struggle for foothold on the pavement,Familiar ascension. I do not heed the city any more,It has given me a duty to perform.I pass along nonchalantly,Insinuating myself into self-baffling movements.Impalpable charm of back streetsIn which I find myself:Cool spaces filled with shadow.Passers-by, white hammocks in the sunlight. Bulging outcrush into old tumult;Attainment, as of a narrow harbour,Of some shop forgotten by trafficWith cool-corridored walls. 'BUS-TOP Black shapes bending,Taxicabs crush in the crowd.The tops are each a shining squareShuttles that steadily press through woolly fabric. Drooping blossom,Gas-standards overSpray out jingling tumultOf white-hot rays.
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