No Time For Gloom

No time for gloom pretty colors that bloom outside, December makes no difference it's all caribou, and thoughts of you gonna go somewhere soon feel cells getting stronger my head is rounder and the sound of her echos till it screams and is solitary and pure and trembling that there is so much beauty and beauty and beauty to drink through the skin as this slides from within and glides and divides to the multiplicity of now the refulgent spray from the prow of the scow that skims like flat stones on a Minnesota lake whose wake marks the trail through the sleet and the hail from the adamantine jail to the once empty pail now full of what is not mixed close with all we've got to celebrate on the plateau of all we expect to resurrect from the wrecked

the way this being thing cascades a string of voices that sing **outside is the living hour outside is the living hour** as when canopied with twilight bower a lily-white December flower winked at me and told me the time