It's morning
though all I can see...

The other side
of the great divide...

I'm on a diet
of happy pills...

Nothing
but hot air...

The sadness
of self-destruction...

The pastoral symphony
played out...

The rosebuds
have a pink blush...

I'm out of sage
though...

Almost in a trance
seamlessly segues...

How like bushfires
the drought is...

Floating teardrops across the sky
lovely line...

I recite my poems
to deafening...