GO!
Song to Suburbia
J.B. Rowell
Don't just throw them open,
unhinge, flatten walls
to make way
for pink and orange
sunset, tell the birds: Go!
The mountains are to the west
the ocean just east,
you can fly anywhere, even
roost in trees hooked
into faces of rock
in mist of waterfall.
Why are you here?
Standing
on my disposable house,
unknowing to unnatural
terrain.
Go!
J.B. Rowell
Don't just throw them open,
unhinge, flatten walls
to make way
for pink and orange
sunset, tell the birds: Go!
The mountains are to the west
the ocean just east,
you can fly anywhere, even
roost in trees hooked
into faces of rock
in mist of waterfall.
Why are you here?
Standing
on my disposable house,
unknowing to unnatural
terrain.
Go!
posted by J.B. Rowell at 8:12 PM
3 Comments:
Go West or East young birds before the mountains and sea become condos! Excellent poem!
Sea-Condos would be interesting . . .
;)
Thanks!
Some call those air craft carriers.
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