Tunnels

Going underground 

Tunnels 

Slither and slide, snaking 

Through long left  curves and 

Sharp right angles 

Angling ever inwards 
The rattle and screech is deafening 

The darkness, at times, complete 

Desolate 

Until you, with a surprising amount of relief 
Pull into the pool of strip lights 

At Baker Street 

Where Sherlock Holmes’ shadow still haunts the walls

Perhaps having just raced into the tunnels 
It is strange, I think how we throw ourselves 

Through brick and stone in tin cans 

Without room or light to spare

Buried underneath a concrete world 
Still, though, takes minutes off getting to golders green 

And blinking stepping out off the escalator… 

That is, as long as your ticket works 

And you don’t get that horrible beep 


You know the one 

Where the ticket machine folds its arms 

And says that your ticket’s not valid 

And that you’re trapped down here forever
Sloth out. 

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