Edgelands I
Chasm.
Between two places.
Dark phantasm,
Faceless.
Glitch.
What damned decision
Spawned this niche,
This deep incision.
Shift,
Pass automata,
Trans-locate dimension rift.
Edit faceless from the data.
This week we were given the task of writing about a piece of edgeland.
As a cycle courier I seek shortcuts and back routes.
This route allows me to bypass a busy junction and avoid the main road.
There is a space between the railway bridge and an adjacent building about a metre wide and ten metres deep.
It has no use, it simply is. People rarely acknowledge its existence. They shift from one frontage to another, avoiding contact with this vertical void.
It has a sinister atmosphere, like a trap, a narrow passage of no return, a dead end.
It feels like a space which shouldn’t exist, a monster borne of thoughtless error. A wrong digit. A misplaced line. A crass assumption.
But now it does exist and people erase this reality from their consciousness.
This poem tries to encapsulate these thoughts.
By Muhammad Yasin Ali
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