Like a rogue planet, swinging suddenly close,
Drawing the tides,
Pulling everything out of shape,
Like a pirate ship, heaving out of the mist-
Grinning, undernourished faces along the taffrail and a flag that says No Mercy.
The rain falling or the sun shining and it feeling the same,
The phone ringing or not ringing- both equally bad.
Oh get away with you, you helium-inflated nightmare. You have been talked up. I don't believe in you.
You're not a planet, or a ship, or a flag; not even a bobbing balloon.
You're just things going on as usual, as they're supposed to, at this stage.