It is this day,
                                 today,
                       that we lose. We lose the skies
                  and everything goes.
                     We go to the clouds. Nothing
                                       matters there.
            We are like the man laying in the ditch
                      ***** in his hands. Cold, wrinkled
                                              fingers.
 ­  The woman, arms wrapped,
                                        tightly,
       ­                              around the toilet bowl
                                           Now limp
                        in her grave.
                                                         We, collectively, lie
    looking to the skies. That's where we'll be...
                                                           ­               soon.
                                            ­                   The air,
                                                       full of smog
                                                            ­           will
                                                            ­                  clear.
                                        ­              That is not a hope
                                                            ­                      it's a
                                                                ­              Promise.