1779

The morning comes
And what is it to me?
My head among the phlox
Seemed a pale, blazing fungus.

The rain, highway, and humidifier
Rehearse pianissimo.
The late capsizing
Juts above sink level.

You want to know why
Men reify thoughts and
Objectify everything? Be as hard
At midday as at five fifty five.

A tuning fork is ruining
The ventilated silence.