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
fastidious open cast
scrapes from its bone china
in a double mastectomy landscape.
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