Their clothing was identical.

An attempt to stamp out

the concept of the individual.

They said it would lead to equality,

but they wonder why we have no identity.

It was the crusade of our rector,

to have high standards of dress.


New World

and snow’s the best we can hope for.

There’s going to be a storm, no doubt.

We could do with some snow.

Gentle flakes, spinning to the Earth,

each as distinct as we are.


Pray for snow, my boy,

pray that it will cover the scars we’ve left on the earth,

pray that it will bury the dead that remain unburied,

pray that it will clean our contaminated world,

pray that we can forget what lies underneath,

even just for a day.

We can pretend this is a new beginning,

our skin frying in the sun’s reflected rays.