62%- approximately how often the sky responds
usually it tells me to lay off caffeine
or lay off romance
or to forgive myself, cause 'for chrissakes
no one else will if I can't'
47% is approximately how often the earth becomes
jealous of this lofty exchange
usually muttering entreaties not to forget about it-
that my worries would be farther and few should I
simply sit down from time to time to
baptize my motivations in the good mud.
The sun becomes monosyllabically irate 3% of the time
"Hey. Hey! YOU! HEY!"
Lunar crooning aloes my ears for 9%, there, there, lost one.
98% of the clouds tell me to move
but the percentages are all off,
so I'll **** a finger
raise it to the wind
and let some humour front into
my apprehension, because the weather
tells great jokes, because no matter
how wrong the weatherman is,
there's always at least a 50% chance
of sun.
