The sky is
A work in-progress
Blue canvas spattered
Gray chaotic and
Lacking the definition
Of anything finished
It’s a torrent
Of cloudy rumors
Swirling about uncertain
Of its truth
Hazy like Pittsburgh
When steel mills
Billowed noxious smoke
Covering everything everyone
In light soot
Oh these mornings
Make everything turn
Away roll over
Trying to forget
That this day
Ever really started
HARLAN DIDRICKSON 