Excuses, excuses, excuses. Be done with the lot of them. Flying about, flailing even, and hitting the left eyebrow with an intent toward deliverance. Ready for the moping and sloping jaws to payback in return of sorts. Of favours, deceit and general missives on the state of the world. Sounds like they know how to talk into the mirror without watching back on the reflection.
Directions are in the wind and it's a mighty gust for the blaze of atmosphere changing. Changing up and on the whims of sneezes and on the wings of butterflies fluttering by on continents worlds away.
Up, up and away, there is only hope which falls by the wayside. Deep below unto the valley that claws back the humanity from within, shakes it by the ankles and asks in a manic tone, "What have you done all day? What have you done with your life? What have you done that's worth saving your life for?"
Such questions, such grimy hands, a better fit to the suit is the actual call for. Questions. Never with clear answers.
And here comes another cloud. Ready to move and cover up the sky. Here comes the rain again. Here comes the end of another day. Joy to the world for the dusk undone.
Written on Wednesday, 23 January 2008