The Humans’ Race and B-Roads
The sky is flat today, crushed
and beaten boldest blue, and clouds
by spadefuls exquisitely-turned
in chiselled weather. I pick my way
on polished roads, icy transparent
blue veins reflecting direction.
Ethereal maps without origin or end,
and it matters not which way I choose,
not when you live on an island.
Inspired by Martin Chuzzlewit
By Charles Dickens