This day is England dreary draped in blueberry suffering
Smeared across the pavement like the sound of angels
Not laughing.
We pass in feigned anonymities-Such apathetic victories
Enveloped by endless drudgeries-We wallow in
Gray miseries.
This day is smothered in absinthe glaze-
The sky in wisps of Renoir white-
Rivaled in its elegance alone by
Ballet night.
