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