Crit for crit, of course.
Every few hours I'm temporarily undone
My bandages opened, not changed, but re-sewn.

It's the sad, stark reality of this damn tempestuous climate
With its sunny 5 minutes and its stormy six hours
And I can't help it that I'm pathetic enough
To weather the winds for the sunlight
Or to hang onto the dreams of nylon fabric on strings
Strung around my waist, barely protecting my skin
From the harsh blazing depth of the UV penetration.
I'm hardly on vacation
Let alone, providing a reasonable explanation
For the way you disappear behind the ever-present monotony
And leave me explaining away the inexplicable return to over-cast conditions

The doctor's aren't surprised by the way this is turning
They're silently awaiting the end of this repetition
Of cutting open the cloth and threading the fiber
To seal away last night's episode
And leave me sewn shut.


Okay, this is kind of a free write after a long, long writer's block, so don't kill me :P.
Can't say I was never wrong
But some blame rests on you

Work and play they're never okay
To mix the way we do