Bend me a cloud like they do the balloons on fairgrounds.
Bend it into a soundbox with sound.. And I’ll spray paint it.
Build me a cloud with another cloud inside of it.
We can paint that to.
Wild horses. One day I’d like to ride one- bare backed.. on land
that sews itself to the sky.Where the thread of lazed un-labour weaves
itself through the clouds and the setting sun; a blanket untouchable.
Soft creases under her eyes and dirty lips sealed with defiance.
Cheekbones like foxhounds, deep red and sly…with eyelashes dark and heavy,
bottom ones lined out in easy fashion.
Days keep knocking each other up, making birthdays for all the months out there. And they do it quickly without much hesitation. Makes me think there’s a Base somewhere, holding a fleet of trained months,
on stand by.