Almost a motto: Just. Keep. Walking.
I can understand your pushing the Earth away
all over the dusk,
night a prelude to more day.
Crouched in bookstores, reading novels,
till being pushed, to keep moving on.
It's a way of not being in place,
and less cruel.

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I'd never seen a nuclear power station before.
I was heading to oxford,
and its vases sat,
undisturbing the surrounded ground. --
A curve that was unlike the countryside.
Bespoke.

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The train was delayed for a swan on the line.

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I've missed the rain in London
--and this is not a reminice.
It has been a dry-powder-
air--fine, clustered pollen.
I sneeze! on clean air.

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The course wind from the underground--
up by the esculators, flooding with refuse from below,
onto the upper streets. Terrible, hovercraft fans,
still, now, but in summer,
push even human waste, exude-vapour,
up onto an incinderary city. --Pushes,
and nods to the sky's great (secret) vacuum.

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