Robe of sad dead travelling leaves

Mornings starting too soon. Things I eat and feel in my gut. Slowness of awakening. The world is blossoming in a weird way. I'm writing to the Earth that holds and welcomes me. Its mountains, its valleys and its green cuddly smiles. Earth, ship, goddess, fat lovely lady with a big pie, will you let us taste before it gets cold? Oh mama! Mother Earth, why do they call you nature, you the bastard daughter of the latter and the man with his dangling world-changing penis. This balcony shows me what I want to see. The rusty fresh solid candid soulful city. I spread my hands and kiss the wind that's blowing the rocks to no avail. Dear fool, you are my favorite director. The way you move these dead leaves in the city, like a dead robe being pulled by a ghost through the streets. Survive. Live. You've conquered the night, now unto the light !