The Sky's Secret (the morning after)

The morn breaks clear
and the clouds are late.
I stare up until my neck
aches from wandering;
what else is in there?
the birds seem to know.
they're quite cheerful
at this time anyway,
the brisk air whispers,
it's chasing itself again,
someone seems delighted,
Well at least I have my health.

The vast scape requires
admiration, sweet jubilation.
Oh the cleverness of this "so-
called" cunning sea of clout,
it stands for something far
more than we want to admit,
we deny it the proper
label it has so undoubtedly
deserved.
we render it with obtuse minds
and folly.

We treat it as we treat ourselves,
each other, and those lost.
without a cause.
with each drink, with each smoke
we attempt to tarnish what we have.
mine's gone, mind's gone,
goodnight.