citrine droplets leak from paper cut cracks of a window frame to think we were free from the elements triple glazed, tucked safe away and then to feel the billow’s breath at the back of our neck laughing onto our parade, our soaked oak floorboards.
his excitement bubbles at the pit an every-stop service, emotions prime to flit his skin contains all the muscle memories possible lives and their fictional trajectories . to sigh or scribe, decide what to do first for an opaque organ in need of a cloudburst he breathes in and out, trying to keep the melody writes life down, willing it to form some harmony
Clouds watching themselves Then peaking below to find #humansthatlooklikethings
Today we saw Cloud’s bump Darken, ready for birth Each kick a roll of thunder Misery Alexander Beaumont-Arthur The Third Ready to roll out Del cielo a la tierra Lungs of lightning El grito de guerra And out poured life All over the green Out poured tears Adding to the pastoral scene Third generation out in the world Getting swayed by wind Dragged in by concreate Third generation tries to run in reverse But rain must fall He makes of himself pools and puddles Hoping to keep mother’s reflection as long as he can He makes of himself A vestibule to huddle Cause reaching for las nubes is out of the plan.