Advice to Commuters
Drumming in warmed compartments up to town
On mornings of oboe weather through the truckyards,
A metal desolation flowering with steam,
It is not wise to dream.
To let your still half-sleeping minds slip backwards
To the green end of the sweatier journey down.
On mornings of oboe weather through the truckyards,
A metal desolation flowering with steam,
It is not wise to dream.
To let your still half-sleeping minds slip backwards
To the green end of the sweatier journey down.
Though growth disturb the intricacies of metal
And weather dominate its desolation,
Town is stiff acres waiting for your plow
While fields and hedges now
For you are the furniture of civilization,
A world as artificial as a petal.
And weather dominate its desolation,
Town is stiff acres waiting for your plow
While fields and hedges now
For you are the furniture of civilization,
A world as artificial as a petal.
Think about something other than returning
Lest green hopes gull your plowing until the streets
Open their heavy-lidded lamps. You’ve made
This journey your stockade.
Wiser to watch from your comfortable seats
The cooling towers quietly brewing the morning.
Lest green hopes gull your plowing until the streets
Open their heavy-lidded lamps. You’ve made
This journey your stockade.
Wiser to watch from your comfortable seats
The cooling towers quietly brewing the morning.