Spit At The Sky

A New View


Here we are and wish

to be elsewhere. Nostalgic,

desiring a kinder sky rife

with familiar faces, each

opinion uttered now is a

spit at the sky.


Two years raving at stars

hidden by indifferent

clouds, no light save dry

lightening. Nothing would

douse the fires. Not spit,



Expectations was a world

peering up while sinking

until screams for help

was each of us, one by one,

bewildered, despairing, 

declaring optimistically

better will descend. No one

comes so we spit at the sky.


Wheels spin stuck. We are

isolated risking death.

The air's disease is dense

so unless hard or worse voices

clog our ears, tell them

they spit at the sky.





Author's Notes/Comments: 

An adage that means what you are saying will not be listened to.  Heard it on NPR. 

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