The Heads Of The Valleys Road Poem by Richard George

is a Southern Ocean
blasted summits whale through
like stray flashbacks
from the worried odysseys of a dream.
No archipelago threads this cutting room floor.

Straddling the flock arête dread /
security, a sheep flinches
'Not our warder'.
Albatrosses have relocated
to Xanadu, or wherever wages are cheaper.

On the One Inch windsock I
origami-wrestle
fastidious open cast
scrapes from its bone china
vermicelli contours

in a double mastectomy landscape.