The sky is white fog.
One would think it was snow,
But it is just the intention
It seems pretentious—
Playing with me and my day.
I have many detractors
Feigning needs and demanding
My attention to forsake all others,
But my keen eye wonders outside
Through the long set of windows.
I am determined to go out.
The threat thus far doesn’t succeed.
I remain unimpinged.
By high noon I will depart like
A sojourner going out
Into the wilderness beyond
In my metal four wheeled chariot
Meeting with ‘the slings and arrows’
Of outrageous weather.
‘Thus spoke the raven’ Evermore.