A poetry journal of everyday clippings |
| Down below From just under the clouds, the scenery on the ground is full of tiny playthings: toy roads, toy houses, toy cars, toy trees, like Lionel train-towns. Everything is so small you don't see the people the weeds, the garbage, the apathy, the foolishness. Looking from the top, from your window seat in US Air, flight 1868, you wonder who plays with all those toys down below. |