29 July 2012

Fields of concrete stretch before me, The fast hum of herded traffic making their own animal noises, Sounding both rough and grisly. Farms of humans breeding Both pedigree and mongrels share a pen. but rarely do each of them meet, Even at the abattoir. When they receive their packaging They'll never meet there. One can afford to buy the best. The others get theirs from discarded sales. Brick forests stand tall hanging above me. Watching the foxes argue over the rules, None of them truly know the mongrels they rule over. They scream and pull up the rubbish And use it to feed their plans. Birds, they moan not tweet here. Leaving streaks and streams along their skies. They don't feed on the dead they find. Shun it away, like the pedergees, leaving it to the mongrels. This is the countryside. The urban countryside.

©Odd

OddFields Of Concrete • Opuss № I