The Fury Of Sunsets

 Something 
cold is in the air, 
an aura of ice 
and phlegm.
 
All day I've built 
a lifetime and now 
the sun sinks to 
undo it.
 
The horizon bleeds 
and sucks its thumb.
 
The little red thumb 
goes out of sight.
 
And I wonder about 
this lifetime with myself, 
this dream I'm living.
 
I could eat the sky 
like an apple 
but I'd rather 
ask the first star: 
why am I here? 
why do I live in this house? 
who's responsible? 
eh?

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