Peter Black


Electric City

Live in an electric city no more—
Seeing lightning move through wires and stones,
Count people building boxes to the sky,
And thousands of crowded, converging roads;
Where blue light blisters white-ghost in the night
And clouds recoil back from murder sounds:
Tired brakes, worn tires, the human howl;
The smell of waste and gas is all around.
Grasses turn brown and the creatures have gone,

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