As I reticulate my face with a frown
Its lines zig zag up and around
I imagine how banal
My face crossed by these canals
The lipstick makes me look a clown
In the map of the city underground
The lines are all straight up and down
For the geography
Doesn’t matter for you see
We wish merely to travel around
Yet is that last line not a lie?
The Circle Line makes no use of pi.
What to leave out
Causes great doubt
I wonder if architects cry.
How my heart sings 