Prudent Rash

The bushes in our
neck of the woods
They’re ageless
They’re ravishing
They’ve no choice
but to fall
for the virile juvenile

The sunrise these days
They’re bloodstained
chewing up
the deep blues skies
leaving wastelands
shimmering jewels
of no value

Our throats are dry
eyes peppery
noses sour
tongues soothy
We would muster a  quorum
But the lighthearted movers
and shakers
have fallen asleep

The plowlands of knowledge
Grey ghost wisps
whip up theories
The owls warned
long before they drifted away
Men of no mean value live a lie
While death is waking up
carefully dragging prairies
and persons in her claw