Like milk exploding into tea, grey clouds are Mixing with the white ones on this descent Late spring evening. It smells of wet concrete, Even though it’s dry for now. Perhaps A few raindrop dots are coming down Or maybe that’s just what I expect to see. I wonder what will interrupt me now? I shouldn’t be so proud, I’ve caused this noise As much as anyone. It’s my bad music Drowning out the birdsongs (I don't know if it’s sparrows with such gentle Little voices? Despite their rightfulness Under the sky, the birds can be annoying too From time to time. Just not those little guys). What do I gain from this one-note horseshit? Pumping ear candy that tells me it’s supposed To be upbeat—uplifting nothing! Dance-less, loveless, love song knocking deafness Steals a chance to be alone for vague impressions. A little ‘raindrop’ touched the bottom of my leg, That’s how you know the brain can jump the Gun, (it's having fun with qualia?) The little bugger-wire-frame. I wonder why God allows such a beautiful sky to float above such an ugly place? Anyway, it has been a fine day with both temperatures. Let the birds cross paths with the planes! Two magpies cawing now to end the day. They sound like crows with weak, sore throats. God loves those little guys. (Two doves are sitting on the power line). Love shall rise and fall again. Man this planet is fine. I live here all the time.
Great poem Nathaniel.
I also learnt something new - the meaning of “qualia”👍
I also realised something- I quite like the smell of wet concrete. 👍
You impacted my day. 👍