The buildings of Denver 
pop up from the
dark valley of the
front range like toast
awaiting the buttery marmalade
sunrise soon to slather
spread and spill bringing
the sweetness of morning
to the dry palette
of just another day
but soon too soon
the mountains will shine
and the sad truth
that what man builds
will never ever be
as majestic as what
natures own hand creates
will become strikingly apparent


A storm rolled in
not a metaphorical storm
but a real one
and now its anger
layers the heavens above
one heavy dark layer
atop the other thick
black atop heavy grey
one denser than the
other like the mood
of most drunks sitting
sullenly at the corner
stool of the neighborhood
bar their despair growing
as their glasses empty
until at last thunder
erupts following their anxiety
slowly staggering home bound
poorer and poorer still