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Living Floss
December 13, 2012
One by one
They're spinning downward
Into the mushroom cloud.
I've seen them all night
Hung from the stars
Becoming disturbed characters
Playing on my deluded canvas.
My ignorant playthings,
Trapped
On filmy avenues
Landscapes soon to crack.
Prisoners
In the innocent lair of a wolf pup
Floating spectrums
Of each world's palette
Being pulled in whisps of
Living Floss
From their inanimate safety.
In another world,
A satyr is loved by an idiot.
Behind the curtain, he breathes.
© Weike W., Rochester Hills, MI
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