Cascading, streams of ideas,
those silken threads falling
upwards through the clouds,
up to the star-bright sky
and here we are, here we are
drinking from the vessels
dipped into the inky fount of
unholy hours, black and blue
with night, purple with supernovae
and silken threads bind
the explosions
within our stellar hearts
fly their ribbons
of here we are, here we are.
Clouds of crashing thunder
clapping their hands just above
my head, sinking buzzing spikes
into my skin, my tongue, running
down my spine, rattling against
vertebra after vertebra: a storm
in an old water slide, hollow and arid
a bumpy ride ripping apart the flow
of smooth electricity, impulses
rushing, threading through
the stop-and-go of logic gates
Flawless stars spotting the back
of hands stirring the paint of hours,
painting the walls of the universe:
glowing specks and planes of amber,
and a ceiling of sunsets spoken
in the voice of eternal static,
spelling out the lines between
light and dark and dragon breath.
starfishskies 