it’s too nice out
to write that poem today;
clouds are doing sheep,
sheep are doing clouds
and everything conspires
in favor of all.
it’s too nice out
to write that poem today;
there’s damp grass to lie in,
I lie in damp grass
and that which is quiet
is still with me.
talking is tough
and I have little to say,
I breathe in the good stuff,
purge shadows away;
it’s too goddamn nice out
to write that poem today.