It’s grey clouds
piled together,
like a thick, threatening pillow.
And black sky,
burping thunder.
It’s a swarm of youth;
dark hoods and hard tongues
buzzing playfully
like locusts,
Under a willow tree.
It’s sodden grass
under feet
and porridge mud
with thick toffee skin.
It’s the moon above me,
yellow, thick, and throbbing,
like sky’s blister.
It’s rusty chains
and green poles
that creak.
And feet becoming wings
which launch me.
It’s a haunting sky.
Feral hair
whipping rain in lashes
on my face
and falling into thunder
feet first.
It’s leaving earth.
Becoming black clouds
and mist.
And For one moment,
It’s feeling big.
It’s letting go,
It’s jumping.
And landing in a pile of legs
and grazed skin
and smiles.
It’s conquering again
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