I. A tiny mark of light is
capable of creating infinite divisions
among the decomposing sludge
at the bottom of any neighborhood.
Stench will be the only sense to
remind us that we are alive.
II. Father time is laughing at the chimes,
as winter begins her sonnet of scent,
(Smoke, frost, & hot coffee)
and the stagnant stench of sweat gives way,
to mother Earth's temperamental decay.
III. It is said that Father Time
ravaged Mother Earth,
to create the seasons
and seriously screw up
our senses.
IV. To awaken is eternal bliss,
manifested through sound.
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