A Question, Professor Pine.

Amongst the rush of nettles 

And the bodies of


That pace up and 

down the hills

I ask you

Why your limbs seem to 


As if weighted by some 


That haunts the 


Of bears. 

You feed off 

Their exhaustion

Don’t you?

The buzz of helicopters

Mixed with the sound of the river 

I ask you 

Why you were chosen to stay 

And if your siblings had to die

Or if they lived

Under paved steps

Living tangled

In the steam tunnels

Wrapped in 

Your underground 


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