My old vein

I look at the sun flooring its way down to the grass
of my back lawn, from higher

greeting me aggressively and swallowing the morning whole

gluttony of fire, power to scorn

My arm lingers impatiently begging the spade to labor

soil is meaning, life demand

I look down at my forearm the inconvenient vein
wakes up to my hand, from dreaming

greeting me with the flow of blood pulsating through

fingers feel new born, eventually pry

I look at the world light in the skull aligned with my sight

life is a rifle I sigh, aimed at the day from dawn

often firing quite invain
bullets from my vein