(none given)

The windmills tilt against Oil—
Quixotes that cannot win.
Their puffing, tragic toil
Can’t turn high energy in.

Black Coal, black Oil, must conquer,
And Nuclear, pure, supreme,
If civilization master
The sane, impossible dream!

This entry was posted in Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to (none given)

  1. Robert Tracy says:

    It’s true. Tragic toil. Those windmills are actually attractive. But attractive like a slut.

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