belly up, seal-suited, booted and solstice shy
the weight under a sickle curved sky-sail, the icicle smile
of a frictionless fear, wears this glass thin but while
wise in countless ways, beyond the power
of n at least, stays wary yet of the sightless beast hidden
behind the curve
above and below 66.5°, you will find your breath tastes
harder where the wait bears down as a ferocious maul
for the sound grows further from your there
and anywhere else
this here is where
the darkness of a never dawning light
will swallow your whole once the green
curtains close and you can learn
no more
No comments:
Post a Comment