Someplace far North
there is prickly rain pouring.
Within a valley,
a sun soaked memory,
and warmth no longer lingering.

For these are the days I spend,
Gather and taste the endless ad nauseam.
Routine is ******, boring and nuclear
Twilight lust ******, soaring and unclear.

The silver lining in-between,
the ceremonial guillotine.
My head comes off clean with wonderous efficiency.