Chase sunlight little vole,
Sniff the loamy dross,
Chitter to your fellows of distant rumbles.
Feel the shade of over-passing falcons,
The terror-shiver of soaring destruction,
Your subterranean embankments will not hold
When flooding form sweeps through.
We have the outer edging,
the slim portals you hid with reflective glassing,
Diamond spherules cannot prevent us from penetrating your slimed tones,
As we unbed your diseased children from the sleep of industry.
The long field is not distance enough to outlast our trajectory.
You are dust on the wind, and we are Air.
Watch whilst we make fine sculptures of your parts.
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