The sky is ripe with stinking wet scorch marks,
And bleeds in petrified phosphorescent snapshots,
Trapped by droplets that
Pour from scratched gorges,
Clawed into the ether by electricity's unkempt fingernails:
An unholy flow, funneled to quench
A celestial ****** of tap-dancing crows;
Their flickering ***** miming pastiche skeleton shapes,
Beckoning black hole embers
Through trap-doors to some ghastly Cathedral of Mirrors:
A padlocked whinstone veil of white lightning,
Encasing maze reflected upon monolithic maze -
Paths billowing torrents of burning shadow -
Thrusting day, night and apocalypse between
Those rusting bars of strobe.

Summers, golden rays
Sends out radiance,
Like capricious diamonds,
As it protrudes through the blue celestial,
And lounges upon the horizon.

Performing an appealing,
And luminous show,
Streaming into a wondrous glow,
In the mid-days calming air,
As it flows smoothly from below.