Noctilucent Clouds

 Under a British sky-light

A sweeper sweeps up a spectral feather sack

Moved by its own movement

In the next movement, ballerinas go sidewalk diving

Of course, they dance as they plummet


I like my feelings like my drinks

Mixed like my episodes in all four

Of my seasons; skip the winters

Across tepid lakes, these rocks sink

Carpentry nails into all the walls


Hold my breath, too much air

And I will forget how to breathe

Deeply, I do, for the nerves

For the zeroes and commas, I singe


The smell of it

On acid

In acid rain

Smelling good to no god


Published at RAW