Tuesday, June 22, 2010

a refined grunt

Something about the night,
the falling daylight.

Of the calm moonlight
foregoing the brazen daylight.

The effortless topple of a leaf,
the unbudging roots of a tree.

Still, I'm pissed.
Pissed like the yellowest shade of piss.

Conscience on my back,
always keeping me in or from my place.

What is it about?
Truly, clues lay vastly scattered.

A fresh pot of sunshine,
the hydration of swirling rain.

Will that suffice?
Oh, it must.

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