How Do You Know the Sky Is Falling?
Ever the nostalgic futurist
your kettle boiling over
spewing bubbles and steam
Prognosticator tallying naught and aught
sorry you lost your hat so soon
exposing cool head to scorching sun
It’s whether or not
you don’t need man
fingering prevailing wind bothering clouds
Your cover blown no time to sit tight
might as well stand on your hands
turn cartwheels on the road to progress
imaginary line from here to yonder
