On The Road to Mother-load.

They let me think the Moon was a Bull

Looking along that way, I misjudged its silent gaze

for phosphorescence from the edge of the dawn

till the whole world collapsed in scorn,

returning to its former self awkwardly, a belligerent

hissing fuse of annunciation froze the grassy kerb

With pitilessly clear eyes rising up, looking for

Otherness in the broad emptiness of urbia

we followed harsh rules then, uneccessarily

and no hearts were tuned to our directions

even the sleeping ruts misguided our wheels

obedient hills embrace the skewed sods

Placing angled rocks is not their divine strategy

Awaking us onstage before the curtain fell

into the empty theatre, pot shards and war rubble

This town is a small man made hill were viewers view

Heavy grazing fading grey folks they knew.

Done