they come from above when we don’t look
cloud people with their glass hearts of malady
aerial brothers of vultures and moonshiners
inborn fauvists of overcrowd seas
they’re here for the sad girl in this hollow house
she’s full of malaise ’cause everyone left
helpless like streetlights during the blackout
during the ancestral storm in the west
the mortadella of downtown crash
and sketchy remnants of outlines in ecstasy
all by the grace of childy mustache
worshipped by cavemen of shifty fantasy
these machines stored in liquid rooms
these sabres in hands of trans parents
these witches lurking by memory lanes
all still heard
as chants in a vintage phone
in a strange place
on a strange time
where we always dream alone
Categories:
fauvists, dream, surreal,
Form: Free verse