grid

This land is nothing but grids.

A too-easy jigsaw and

A too-straight line.

This does not inform us

Of the hazards we’ll face

It’s all empty promise

And for this I can’t care.

If I was your explorer

Or planning your town

I’d be honest at least

If not always silken.

I’d give you no right turns

But also no wrong.

I’d line up with the river

And honour your palm.

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