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ode,
these cloudy days

o,
these cloudy days.
above my head is a blackberry cloud,
and it's bursting with blackberry bubbles and juices,
as i listen to my mother's voice count down the days these cats,
and dogs fall freely down.
being still is the movement.

upward and over the cliff,
is something suspended in thin air-gaffa that isn't visible.
unlike a cloud,
you can't see this shit.

is this weather really that unlivable?
because i think it's bliss when others can't stand in it.
o, for these are the days our sunlit space shapes the way our paths will go.
ode for these cloudy days.

NO,
these cloudy days.
don't deserve an ode,
but the lens' of the people who see dope
in the things that are whack in this world space
DO.

this endless repetition of life definition outlines
our admission into a jackpot of an existence everyday
through all of the endless contrast, exposure, and temperature.
We are extremely fortunate,
for we are heirs to an oil tycoon,
and livin' in a mansion.

weather dogs and cats, or blackberry juices
fall from the sky shattering your bones to the floor
and sting a sour pain into your eyes
Don't CRYeye
LAUGHa ha ha,
because I did,
and I'm fine,
but one of my favorite friends didn't,
and he shot himself in the head causing every single cat, dog, mother's voice, and drop of
blackberry juice to meow, woof, count down, and explode out of his beautiful oxygen accepting orifices.

ODE, for these are the days our sunlit space shapes the way our paths will go.
O for these cloudy days will pass,
so appreciate them while you can.