Robert Verdon, #217, Mother City

nothing gets done in a rainbow
there are no entrepreneurs
the trifle sky is a trifle shy
we can see cryptomeria bridges
we can see children beneath cherry-blossoms
now, we can see the vast metropole of China
keen yellow flowers might be exploding cities
underfoot there are pandas bleeding
nothing gets done in a drunken rainbow
ice crystals float like silver bullets in sub-zero indifference
CO₂ molecules bask atop a tarpaulin of hot cloud
the angels play clarinet and electric violin like Henry Lowther
we seek out the mother city like lambs to the slaughter
it might be all on Nigella from up here …