Crane

During the night, husks of buildings haunt the skies. A hook hangs high a universe away. It appears like a body - the way light lies. Don’t do this anymore: make it day, make it day. A swift gust would make the body fly. Further and further and then something is missing. Without the hook, a crane would but sigh. Scale it please - the wind is listening. There’s no need to fret just don’t hang. He did that and now he explores the clouds. Catch the northern wind with that familiar pang. Now you can see how dull lights are through these shrouds. In the place where you stand, In an ocean of metal caskets, Every inch is unmanned Just for now. You’ll have to wait for the rackets. If the chain around your neck is inevitable. Then jump off and hear what he said. Wind blows everything that is stable. And then he’ll tell you that you can’t be dead. You can’t be. He’d never let that happen to me.