Author: Michael Angelo

There’s so much beauty in the World
that is infected by the psychotic desire
to turn everything into the mundane.

The Sun itself would be spliced and quartered
into neat chunks of comfort, if people had their way—
I mean, how else could we buy
into the illusion of immortality?

I like squirrels; I like the trees they climb even more.
Both know that when Winter rolls in,
it deserves the respect of dying.