one cliché here
one cliché there
one sober mess
and soberness
seems clear

the skies weep
and the sun is yellow
and poets dream
lovers quarrel

can't tell when it's time
to end a sentence
stanza
phrase
or verse

versus the mind
                           and
                                 soul
                                        and
                                              body
             ­                                        of
                                                 the
                                         heart
                                    that
                                   is
                              red
                 blooded
by a thousand erections
of towers to the weeping sky
under that yellow sun
and the green grass
and the tides
that ebb and flow

listening to the sighs of wind
in and out
breathe and pout
you'll never be
that is to see
the reflection of your soul
on mine

or some nonsense about loss
of time.