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wesley camarillo Mar 2020
I. Sometimes i feel like I’m in that bubble she’s blowing
Hot and sticky
Rendering my perception from within
muffled and distorted, suffocating

II. My world— my bubble
Sends me spinning
Knocking into the scalding walls,
Marking my arms and cheek
With hot, gooey kisses
Of molten glass

III. One end darkens, a shadow
Casts over me, inside my bubble.
And suddenly it’s hot, it’s bright!
And I’m still! Spinning!!

IV. The neck snaps free,
Cooler air rushes in my now
Tapered, open bubble
Giving me a chance at a glimpse of
A clear surrounding
All soon interrupted by another
Flash of light, another blast of heat

V. And then
An invasion, all while my bubble
Kept spinning!
Following my tumbling body,
Around the edges of my bubble,
A pair of metal claws gripped
The opening, opening, opening
Until the seaport sized window
Of my bubble
Became a hole big enough to
Climb through

w.c.

— The End —