Skies and Clouds and Such

In her endless vaulted empire Lolls the languid sun. A kookaburra bursts with joy; The day has just begun. The dandelions yawn and stretch, Teasing out the tangled rays, And soaking up their warming glow To keep for darker days. As subtle airs of dew and ivy Laze upon the breeze That wafts across the old canal And feathers through the trees, I wander early from my berth And the many thousand voices worth Of weary words and pyrrhic mirth; I head for Epping Station. Stiff black whiskers catch my collar, It pinches one or two, And lizards scamper to avoid The morning’s sweeping view. Slipping through the flotsam Of that caffeinated stream, Which leaks out of the Witching Hour’s Syphilitic dream And trickles down to disappear Through every crack and seam, My eye can hardly move before It’s brought once more to rest, Snared by all the shining threads Of another sticky nest. Crisp air pools in the verdant shade And slithers down my throat To drip on down, collect and sit And every drip, it strikes that pit With an awful jangling note. I stop to sit and rest my eyes A while from all the glare And as they shut I swore a shape Darkened the upper air. I scan the heavens for a sign Of any little cloud But nothing’s there except the sky All haughty, blue and proud. Ah, shadows dance in open skies Around a sunny grin And stir mephitic fumes within A sheer nocturnal skin And all the rays pour down on me So hot and razor thin But on a cloud they might explode, A mighty pink and orange ode, And let the joy begin.