If I were a sheep

Picking a living on this canted grass

I might wish to communicate with my friends,

Similarly pitched across the way,

But would be unable to do so,

Barred by this tarmac valley

That gouges its way between us


Conversation would be useless in any case;

This crew-cut corridor is filled

With the tuneless dissonance

Of steel engaging steel

The cadences of piston power reverberating

The never-ending whine and grind

Of this rusty city…


If I were a sheep

I think I would wear ear-muffs

from my new collection’ 67′.



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