Sunday, 2 August 2009


The heavens are mottled
like a weary eye
watered with a thin layer of film.

A coating of stratus cloud
cloaks the heavens
and waters incessantly.

The Sun, it seems,
has gone on vacation;
it is summer, after all.

Gloom becomes the people;
the pavements take on an
air of hostility.

Smiles become inverted;
hopes become whetted.
Kettles become quite desirable.

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