Targeting the meadowlark, and
coming down from the hilltop abode;
if I get either wrong, I'll pay dearly.
There's only small room for error here,
in the funhouse of the misanthropic.
Let me look at blue light as the sun
goes down; once behind that hill it's
over quickly. We roll into dark like
a Juicyfruit cover, and I know if
I lounge on this grass, the thistle
will keep me there forever.