Sacred City (Ode to Milton Keynes)

[tectak]

The town is square and grey, an altar cloth
in open fields. A boulevard divides
the rising and the setting sun. The hill
which rooted Joseph's staff may not be here,
but Nature's sweets and idols are. A witch
I kissed one Summer's night is bearing bread
and stones. I watch her through a pub window.
Her rites are held in tree preserves, where love
and leaves are one with light, each soul a part
of Earth's design. I kissed her there, beneath
a stooping tree. She laughed and lost my name.
I walked to work the next morning with grief.
A fleeting lust, a sudden warmth, a tree
behind us, old and stooped, yet now this grey.

Bugger me if this isn't just excellent. I now have to think of something interlektual to say bout it. OK.
Er....er....well. It is er...just...excellent. So kill me why don't you?
I think this is a nail in the Coffin of Crap Poetry. I applaud you, Hes.
Third line from the end is the weakest. Maybe "in grief" but what the hell. I really LOVE this one.
This is as near a perfect example of pure poetry as I have seen on this, or any other site. I do not know what I mean by this...but I will defend my view to the death. Very well done.
Best,
tectak