nf#3

bitter blue skies
snapping in protest
make me want to pawn my locket
i don't know if the clouds will ever come home
to yawn and swallow me
and blur all the black and white edges
left in your silvery wake
i'll take it and run, take it and run to the...
mall. i'll slum in utter invisibility
a bit more malignant with every puff
of you, tainting my blood
it's so inconvenient
i open my mouth and your phrases squeak out
from some misconnected hive mind.
i'd dive into the cosmos and float on your lies
pass you an unsuspecting drink
but the grinning clement weather pretends not to see
having seen a million yous and is.
our story isn't written in the stars,
rather etched into the ocean floor
by blind fish running into each other
and blaming evolution.
let's brush away the rust
and save our last dance for the next rainstorm.