The linear lines soon blur incoherent ...
Happy harmony of dog bark
And the hunting gear
Of upturned bird cameras
To what can't be seen,
The merciless jets
Caterwauling in curlique
Thick spumes of exhaust,
Writing lines
No less comprehensible
Than the ones I write here
Except people camp out
Sidereal to the street
To decipher what's seen in the breach,
Scattershot scattergraphs
In blueprint skies,
Blue angels scrape the firmament
For sighs
From the otherwise occupied
With their private vibes
Willingly suspended
For disbelief
In the old and immortal
Killing machine
That threatens the drums
Of beached ears.
We would beseech them for mercy
If it wasn't so family friendly
Death from above,
The bulk of the skies untouched.
The city is blanketed
By strings of smoke.
The God of War groans in his sleep.
His Thunderbirds puncture the seams
Of impassable sky
With the verve of unhindered
Children
As the white clouds
So light
Would merely float away.
