Wednesday, August 8, 2018

James Walton #110 Undoing the weave

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


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