the pretzel people inherited the earth
out of a lane off Harvest Street
they came to benches trams trains
luckily aeroplanes did not take off
or cars leave the monoscript drives
buses stalled where they were
everyone is happy here at last
peace in all time by a moment
held on the soles of feet pulled
up towards eyes to see backs bent
down the gazes of multitudes
to the same angle of sight
the words that made them written
in a language of interlocking text
on socks of universal fittings
only the barefooted walk upright
trying to find their way to the factory
where they believe there must be salt
and what of the doughnut folk ?
ReplyDeletea poem for them too!
they are lost in their centre
ReplyDeleteThe pretzel people ripped Mobius off a strip ;)
ReplyDelete