Pearly grass, mooncast slumber,
Dawn is spreading discontent.
Vermilion grudges, diurnal rhythms,
Now blanched to spent feelings,
Now rubbled to neglect.
Parchment-grail, consciousness nudges our minds
To face the quiver of morning-sharp darts.
The questions rain faster
In pattern of windswept
In fitful stops and starts .
There is force there, even wonder
Should we have leisure to stop and seek.
But we know we rush onwards
In apocalyptic pressure, dazzling, befuddling,
Crushing the meek.
Can you tell I’m about to descend into the lions’ pit again? Two more rounds of business gladiator-ship and then I am done for this year!