Trickles in increasingly fickle
And unsettled rivulets through deserts
Caracasses, the bones of asses in the
dirt
Reapers sickles over wishes, this
dearth
Of liquid.
Hackney Brook, hundred foot wide at the
Lea
The Tyburn, Windsor's throne stole as
rest
The Fleet with quays, carved Farringdon
valley
All cased in concrete tunnels under
us
Like spent mine shafts, the hewn veins once
precious.
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