At dawn, Cuban cigar smoke and Cognac buff the cloud bluffs till they shimmer gold.
Midday is painted with Gordian knot, unsolvable blue, blue that invokes the totem Deva of the salt sea;
The eventide’s sea is a ruched ballet satin, foaming with teardrop lace; and pudendal pink with wine set of sun and starlight.
Guazy mauve illumines cloud nine; the brined air wefts icy, tulle cirrus; and suggests meteorological moksha.
I wish I could disappear in a swish;
like a chandelier of clean rain
cascading in a water closet; I’d go down the shower drain in a vortex, my portal’s cirrus spinning like the geometry of wind turbines, and I’d make a single formulaic glass rose before gurgling to nihil.
I’d go like
the waves that draw back their
jeweled seafoam hamsas from the seething kettle of flambé sands.
Then I would have moksha: freedom.
I am going to become an ice cream cone one day. Or maybe a unicorn with a magical rainbow mane. Or a fairy with edible pixie dust on her wings.
Let’s evanesce in a coruscating mushroom cloud of magical, mauve smoke;
We’ll fly away to the morning star in a copper teapot, splitting rainbows with the Bowie knife of a sea glass prism.
Bring your sequined mage’s cape, we’ll go see Silver Leopard, the big top aerialist.
We’ll ride a glass elevator to tomorrow; steaming up its panes with Cleopatra’s secret treasury of cobra tongue kisses.
I’ve got a golden fishtail braid: Rapunzel’s rope; I’m hanging by it out of a steam powered balloon, my hand extended to you.
Grab it and we’ll soar together over the spires of Victorian London, dangling by a yellow thread of princess hair.
dulce de leche hues
create astral fans
of peacock pinache
on the grass.
these shadows from
the stars are a panoply
who’s golden imbroglio
is a chatoyant bracelet
I am a naiad kitchen god
sitting in a cathedral volcano;
it’s cape grotto s t r e t c h e s
into a Proteus forever chasm;
something like white
seal pup fur
lines the dark cabin of this
dimensional, volcano car;
Stalactites of icy zircon
hang from the cab’s
illumined by strobes from
aqueous street lanterns,
the zircon icicles look like
glistering Hermés leather,
or like an electric
with a trillion
Everything shines here;
rain crusts over the
windows in sapphires
from the microscopic
treasury of a miniscule
I love the glittery
music that brings
me to this exquisite
There is a big, white wicker chair. The cushions are soft and deep. Floral prints abound; my legs are sheathed in a garden of quilts. In my arboretum of cloth, I huddle near the small caldron in my hands: a cup of warm cider. The sunlight in the room is the color of a naked soul. It’s bright and tranquil. Flutes of yellow spring to the floor as clouds pass by. Green grass runs breathlessly to the other side of the world. I have a big window that sparkles flawlessly. It’s just me, my big comfy chair, my steamy cider, and my citadel of quilts.
This place is perfect. Nobody bothers me here. I’m not lonely here. I can see it. I have a bureau of a thousand teas. I have beautiful china in a wooden cupboard.
When the rain falls, I open the window and let the rain kiss me a little. I let my body lilt, my posture slump, on my throne of ease. My beautiful, sapphire eyed cat is named Muffins. Muffins gives me the best love advice and looks like a snow ball.
At the end of the day, I recline in a claw-foot tub. Foam like cumulus frosts the fragrant, heated depths of the vat I’m in. And the most handsome angel carries me to my bed. He places me on the wonderful, deep tissue of a thousand clouds. I sleep with an adorable, furry baby seal (the seal is totally clean and smells good) and together (together, I say!) the sea pup and I sleep peacefully under the warmest down man ever touched.
My happy place, mmm. Where a handsome angel ferries me around in the sedan of his arms, and I never gain weight.