Day 8
Day 8
Twenty little projects ...not easy
Hill farm blues
The land is a sleeping woman.
At Chernobyl, the nuclear accident
includes a release of a hundred thousand
bluegreen butterflies
He sees a heavy field by the power station
And when he touches her rattling fence
He knows- great She who sleeps from
Carlisle to Whitehaven, I love you.
He tastes the reactor release
a flock of mercury birds
or hears a suite of quantum computers,
all approximating sentience.
He is too nesh to fight the robots,
his father said what doesn't kill you
makes you stronger to the broke arm boy.
This land-woman wakes.
Yan tan tethera - follow the lovely beck
of imagination, a diver tied to a feather stone.
Like the fake lake, deeper,
She eats a village for breakfast.
Kit the rhymer is finding it hard to see,
one day this land and poem will either burn or flood.
A clever John Deere tractor announces
the arrivals of Marxist Leninist angels to Her side.
Comme ci comme ca,
the cow checks likes on the gram,
a branch tears through the eyesocket
of a once-proud noble on the battlefield.
She weeps.
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