I found myself sulking beneath the rainbows
Lit with imaginary connotation
Of substance demeaning cave-ins
Pouring downward from a crowded starboard
Those port side are tipping in the waves
Belting nothing from the surf
White capped nights hatched in eye glint twilight
Slides with a knife to their thesis:
Versifier
Murderer
Demanding despair on a kite’s tail
Running the meadow with no wind
To expulse misgiving fabric into the firmament break
So a hill is climbed as mountains are felled
Gazing down; see the grass below
Where a running start is incredible
When the wind picks back up.
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