up into the smoke
the sky feels fine.
and the hood pulled
over your head
keeps the cells warm.
the blanket is floating
far above
and the ground
below
everything else
here in the daydream
cosmic motor
of time
through space.
lifting
ever so gently
toward the sun
and the scars
from the last burn
haven't healed
yet
but you ascend
into the smoke
and mud air
thick
with listless abandon.
how quickly it shifts and
the wind
bends
the hood from your head
and you feel better
than dead
up here
above
it all
like a trail
of ether
you forgot to breath
the last time you
were out.
making loops in the air
and the cold trims
through your hair,
parting the curls
from where you see
the sun
through the magic
you wear.
lifting
above it all
in a restless spiral.
a machine gone half cocked
into space
180 degrees above
the commonplace zero.
and now it's only a matter
of time
before the
sun shines
big bright rays
into your eyes
like the day peeling
away
the night.
up here
above it all,
you can never fall,
and this is how it feels
to be complete
as the sun burns away
the heat
from the fire
you wear on your chest
right before you
ascend even
higher.
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