Blue skies in February

Over look the expansive ugliness

Of imported dirt

Brought in to make things flat

Clearing earth for progress

The telephone wires

Cut the horizon

Like a police barricade

Between the unnaturally new

And the majesty of the ancient sky

Reforming Creation

Like a weak god

Constructing away the chaos

Into cookie cutter cul-de-sacs

For the cause of convenience

The concrete curbs scream separation

Standardizing the flow of the fallen rain

Away from here

Here all the water

Must first be bottled