Can slabs of cement be elegant? Could any sort of beauty come where diesels are sent?
To ask such things reveals a truth, that half of us find the other uncouth.
Is a white collar wrapping the neck of a man more lovingly than a blue one does for his blue man?
People sail like so many ships, around bends, out to sea, on similar hips.
They steer their canoes on the battlefronts of streets, just hoping, dear Lord, let me win a few heats.
I like to look down on the highways of men, and see in all their structures hints of love in the mend.
For even on toll roads a greatness clacks through rock
As men do the best with their ticks of the clock.
