That uniform sky,
that distant blister
for a raw sore planet
you're supposedly under—is it
gray?
Or is it silver?
Does the rain have a point?
Or does each drop
have the perfect caliber?
Depends.
How many grounds
in your coffee cup this morning?
How much like a circus
does the word "fickle" still sound?
And what is the current
starting lineup?
of those slippery ticklish
bacteria in your guts
which have never seen the sun
in their fugitive lives?
