And over the fields of green
you can see from
one highway to another
from one traintrack to the next
These straight lines
-like scars of communication,
of logistics, of society
through the endingly endless
smooth and natural surface
of our Earth
we are the ones who
have cut the lines, drilled the holes
-now bleeding lava and oil
-now leaking organs and intestines
we are the ones
puncturing our aerteries
and slitting our wrists
and How
will we ever
Survive?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
You have cut a memorable pattern here that will continue to clothe you well as you sew many words together... just read your bio... may PH members continue to be embellished by your sassy youthful style.... aroha, Deana