It’s hanging behind us. Blue ball. White feathery clouds. It glows out of the black. Darkness crusted around it, spreading out everywhere. Thick black. But we penetrate, metal speeding through the opaque molasses of space.
It’s hanging behind us. Blue ball. White feathery clouds. It glows out of the black. Darkness crusted around it, spreading out everywhere. Thick black. But we penetrate, metal speeding through the opaque molasses of space.
My brain
Is flying all over the place
bouncing off the ceiling
climbing the walls
it just wants to rest
Pages outlined by legions
Of plague, whips and slaves,
50 shades of God’s wrath.
Cedar waxwings really get it.
They know it’s better to give than receive.
They also know an hour or so of wine tasting
goes a long way toward boosting conviviality.
(They are the bon vivants of birdland.)
a buffoon built an igloo
for a social deviant
hunk of fatal slush falls
ends career in estrangement