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On the Orient Express

The moon keeps looming through the window passing south to north disappearing like a shot balloon reappearing like a shooting gallery duck I can't be sure because it is reflected through a window which is but reflection of the sleeper and of me I do not sleep perhaps because the moon is full keeps bobbing on the tide of night wherever I and sleepers go through tunnels and what foreign stations the moon will race ahead of us fullspeed across these seas of plains its locomotive eye