Ode to Mope

Giant mope, what is it with you.
Your dead eye lights wash up against the side of your leg
pissing on your surroundings, in which you take no pride.
You need to climb upwards towards the roof; towards the light
have a think about your skyline, and your tenements inside
no running water, granules of fears percolating
in the change you are utterly defeated because of.
Stop being a giant mope, and jump
Just give us advanced notice of your trip on down,
and tell us how the view is from down there.

M. Lucia