One sees a pile of rusted junk
But me, a Roman ruin,
Or a landscape scar
From a fallen star,
Or an alien cab,
Or a madman's lab,
Maybe gizmo scrap
Or a secret map
Or a monument raised
For whom they praised
As a character named McCuen.
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2 comments:
The son surpasseth the father in the poetry department! Yikes!
I disagree. This is one of my favorites.
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