This morning I felt so alive:
The sun was rising in my eyes,
Its rays were in my mouth
And its futile, straining heat
Could be tasted on my tongue,
Had anyone cared to taste it.

But then condensation created
Heavy clouds in my lungs,
And now it's raining inside me,
Soaking the unclean passageways of my body
With unclean water.
I can't breathe.

I can't see, either,
And I am coming to name this something,
This grey repetitive something,
A nothing.
I wonder if my brand old eyes
Are now seeing the world
The way the world sees me.
Am I a something,
That when worn grey and repetitive
By storm clouds of elegy,
Becomes a nothing?

This deceptive deprivation
Is depraving me.