The Fury of Sunsets
Something cold is in the air,
an aura of ice and phlegm.
All day I've built a lifetime
and now the sun sinks to
undo it.
The horizon bleeds and sucks
it's thumb.
The little red thumb goes out
of sight.
And I wonder about this lifetime
with myself,
this dream I 'm living.
I could eat the sky like an apple
but I 'd rather ask the first sky:
why am I here?
why do I live in this house?
who's responsible?
eh?
