Landscape

No ceiling

above my head to

prevent the rain from

washing me

purifying me...

Sun beats relentlessly on to the swathes of gold,

On shimmering crests of beauty few eyes behold...

(This picture is taken by my friend Craig, wrote the poem for the picture and just redid it as I always...

Turbines, turbines, everywhere,

and not a breeze a-blowing,

bladed monsters dressed in...

What exists here is hell in its wicked ugliest

Undulating flooded craters swallow the fittest...