we think we're so precious
but aren't we just spit on the pavement
When I poke my head
through the ugly factory wall
and see the heart-breakingly
beautiful blue sky
on the brightest Winter day
my poets heart soars
this is brief
this vista
this God's peepshow
Returning, as I must,
to the spirit-sapping automaton factory work
Leaving only when the sky has gone
and the brightness gone
replaced by grimy city street lights
taking me home.
Steve 2005
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