Hyperborean

Under the shield
of summer and satire
It is cold inside.

They are all as lost as we are
so don't follow Those-
taken outdoors to witness
the sky
holding up,
while others grasp for air.
What can we learn from horizons...

At night,
desist does not do
enough
to take the edges off.

There is color coded warmth
coming from a flaming star-
it sinks in Riga Mortis
drawing a line
from my moment
to an eon
in some dynamic way.

Thus, an impression remains
obsidian and reflective,
oblivious of fixed polarities
as cinereal origins.

A sense of exposure manifests
at-most-fear,
in a moment of raw awareness.
Just-like this-cold air-
I shudder
to think
of a point
taken too far.



Photo credit By NASA [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons. 
Astronaut Scott Kelly posted this photo of the Perseid meteor shower taken from the International Space Station on Instagram with the caption, "Space weather forecast from @ISS: Moonless with a chance of Perseid meteors! YearInSpace space spacestation wx weather meteors meteorshower constellation astronomy nasa".

Sky scrapes

contrails drew all day
as one would fade, another blade
cutting in on blue, gilt by sun
without a red handle
on it to be seen

what chalky lesson
is trying to be relayed
that the entire sky should
altruistically accommodate
and become frayed to mineral slate
from all points of you

grey matter made of our machinated arts...
and those parts of paths remain staining royalty
bleeding lines out
ward, the cons alibi
covering for clouds
on a crystal eyes day.



Image by By Willow2012 (Own work) [CC0], via Wikimedia Commons.

Amore di sé

Atop the purple pale predawn sky
stirred my spirit to unrest
Arose to white worlds winking
afar and apart were we
but heavenly orbs lined up
in a row
Tho all alone at this timid time
watched, I was, enrapt in
warm thirsty waves of want
and shapeless yearning to be-
come drown in the love sent to
me in lights that others call
empty space.


Image by By Alice Boughton, Dawn (1909) (Camera Work, No 26, 1909) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Stone Cold Sky

There's so much pressure on the

                                          baby's breathe blue sky.

To have all the answers-Everybody always looking up

                                           asking you Why?

How should You know, as if a cloud should care-

                                            wisps a front your steely blue glare.

Expecting a sign to calm our moody blues.

There are no strings attached, no installed lines,

                                              cables, or speaker phone...

Do we even know anyone is Home?

Hope floats, and bubbles burst like wish filled balloons;

In your hospitality, you incinerate for fun.

This weightless reasoning; a burden undone

Looking up sounds good-one cannot deny,

                                              and if I were to take a shot, I'd try.

How you'd answer I can fathom not-yet this one immense thing

                                              burning aglow inside-I'd like to know

if you could just throw me a line or show-

how long do I keep holding on

                                              to your alabaster air?

Image of painting by John Martin [Public domain], "Eve of the Deluge", 1840 via Wikimedia Commons.