the clouds are not
something you can bully into a corner.
even though they appear
to flee from nothing
without cause or meaning,
they are huge coins
bellowed beneath space
cradling something
for earth's ***** organs
squeezing something
so precious and volatile
that even the breath of machines seem
valuable.
as i become lost under the eye of light,
i realize i can no longer distinguish my need
to track your scent
from your desire to be pet.

before we can blink
the earth has already spun into silk.
we hurl along through time and space,
stuck on the end of a stringed cat toy
as she swirls
magnificent clouds around her head
propelled in her rotation
and strung along endlessly
by the very bright beast
that has always been
slowly, slowly
swallowing her.
these thoughts are torrential as a hurricane
and as cruel as a tornado
poking into monstrous existence
treating earth like a sandbox.

Relax,
she calls through the roar.
You're in a classic trap.

That is only the quiet grasp of your mind,
the child of so much shouting,
recalling my story.
Your quiet mind, remembering
all at once
all the words which sounded
unwarranted or excessive.
Your quiet mind, leading you
to accept that it all was,
or could maybe have been,
necessary to say.
This is your acknowledgement of the jurassic times,
when diamonds and gold
still pierced my belly.
You must notice the dust settling
all around you for what seems to be the first
and final time:
just for today, when everything quakes
and rots
in a perfect rhythm.