ENTER THE CENTRIFUGE
I worship anarchy : in my way.
Topsy-turvy world at play.
The molecules of sweat are
anxious for their display. Let
us enter this centrifuge and
admire what we see. The
green grass is so pretty
'neath the bright, blue sky,
and the willow bends its
dancing branches, cloaked
in their waves of green. And
I cannot hep but notice the
lakes and rivers straining.
Water runs it watery run
all through the fabric of our
daily moments. Come with
me - I'll show you now where
Humans hide all this glory :
The workmen, with their pipes
and sluices, digging burrows to
hide water away, to fix it with
the filth of what it passes. Unfit
for anything else, and then we
have to buy it? What kind of
world is this?
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