Happy Days (Re Workward) 15th Nov. 2017

Take 2

Here the poet is hauled,
crush souled, mile on mile;
the track a torturer's rack
disjointing romantic confessions
glancing off the day's procession,
automatons confined in the line of duty,
Capital's proprietary rights, Corporations
milling life spilling out the city's beauty,
stainless, steeled of glazed reflection,
gilded bronze in contiguous ambiguity,
sterile set against Nature's inflections.