Crest
Among such smog-soaked folk
As curdle-coil in cloud-spun smoke
Along the grain-cut naves
Which, God-heavy, lie stiff as staves
On sad-strung ouds, yet creep
In concrete-crumbled static sleep
Over cambered cities.
Whose peaks and troughs ebb with pities;
A ring-road tidal flow
With human crest now sunk below...
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