anton

Yes, and so ends that tale...

Or does it?!

That's the cue for spooky, enigmatic music. Where are you music man, where are you? Where is the spooky, enigmatic music? I'll settle for Billy fucking Joel here.

Thank you to those who read it. I was hoping for some vicious, unrestrained critiques, but I can deal with compliments. I can.

'Hey dude,' I hear you say, your nonchalance nothing more than poorly-constructed affectation, 'could you write some existential poetry in keeping with the literarly inclinations of one up at 7am, sans sleep' I nod, mentioning I've never written poetry before. 'Whatever,' you say, 'that's cool.'

On a bad day, you'd call it a brooding sky
In a self-conscious poem
Written on a notepad while you're on the phone.

On a good day
You'd tell me there's a turtle in the clouds
If you look hard enough

I don't mind the bad days.
I wished we lived in
Alaska in the winter
Or New York in December
Or Tasmania in June
Or Portland or Seattle whenever.

By the way, I did look for the turtle.
Couldn't find it.

And in Sydney it will hail.
And we'll all leave our houses
So we're not alone
And the hail stones will break the bones
Of the houses we've come to call our homes

But they can be repaired
And so I swore, to never more
Ask to move our home.