smoke churns as the warm guts of the day
spills-out on top of the cool country-side,
the heat and weight of a new day,
new year, new births, new deaths.

Atlas shrugs it off as pedestrian,
common, everyday and yawns heavy;
a twinkle of life in his eyes, gone;
hope simmering on the backest burner.

we're cutter ants with archictect plans:
today pyramids, aquaducts; cave-painting;
tomorrow, tear them down or erase.

01/01/2008

Posted on 01/01/2008
Copyright © 2026 Charlie Morgan