(no subject)

[proximoception]

Sunday-feeling Saturday sky
You lowerer on the world
With waterdrops in mists unpearled
And in moods so strange in a latterdays guy.
(Such as am I, such as I.)

What unembrace behind you give
This sinless flowering land
Scrubbing itself with a dirty wet hand
As it sweats in its weather resigned. You give
An unlivable life, but we live.

Such a sigh serious take on things
Things that take all with no sighing
Why all this clamor of death and of dying
Why hammer Siberia's ache on things
That, singing or no, resist dings. 

Honey in gatling embatterment
Shaken far more is than earth
At spitthreats howevermuch skyey of birth
Motherroot thrown down to shatter meant.
(Only in me is it bent, is a dent.)