These Flying Beasts Are Hooked on Junk

The white storks glide across the sky, Migrating south in times gone by; But now like Burroughs in his funk, These flying beasts are hooked on junk.   Whilst landfill sites our eyes detest, To these bleached birds they are a nest; A place that they can rear their young, …

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Clouds of broken visions lay in wait

When satellites let out their final breath They must be mapped and never left in peace, For fear of their reprisal after death   The latent destruction caused by a piece Of broken manmade construct is so vast, And with each jettison it does increase   All remains less than …

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