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This is the old road, the Imperial folly,Author's Notes
the road that the jungle took back.
Tours still go to the visible bits,
and you can get a license to camp there,
if you dare to spend the night.
There are no sea monsters this far inland,
no time crystals to misalign and cause a hazard.
You can hear the jungle plotting, though,
its slow green fingers creeping to pull apart
all that men have ever made.
This poem came from the July 2012 Muse Fusion.
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