Plumes In Rooms
Counting hours like chickens
waiting to get fried
until my last pressures get
properly denied
by that amnestic ruckus
compelling my stride.
My revelry extracts your
most suspicious eye
while I collect brains like I'm
Professor Magpie
instructing the planet on
how it ought to fly.
You wafted off on that cloud
propelling my pride
until I cried at that thick
storm brewing outside
lamenting that lonely gust
when our essence died.
|