Ascension

From the top of a building  
and an unflinching smile  
he leaps,  
hair whipping around his face,  
pale, cherubic skin  
warps against the sky.  
 
Pavement soon absorbs him,  
reducing him quickly  
into a puddle.  
Blood seeps over itself,  
nuzzling his mismatched flesh  
until it is too liquid.  
 
The red mass glows,  
if for a second,  
increasing the vivacity of its movements.  
It feels deeper somehow,  
as if the ground was hollow beneath;  
as if a lake had grown within his wide guts  
and something was stirring underneath.  
 
And something is.  
It peeks out of the blood:  
with eyeless sockets that are glazed other,  
smooth like scales,  
and thick tendrils of hair that fall  
like old hide against the shapeless face.  
Not nervously, but slowly  
it stretches out,  
the sinewy form reflecting in car windows.  
 
It reaches towards the sky  
out of its pavement womb,  
instinctively,  
knowing where it had come from.  
It seems to ooze and pulsate as it grows,  
as if it were full of puss or writhing insects.  
 
Elongating, past the rooftops of houses  
and the car parks,  
its girth envelops the steeples on churches  
and squashes against  
the top windows of the high-rises.  
 
It tastes the ledge where he once stood  
but does not linger,  
hungry for the height.  
 
As it touches the sky, it dissolves,  
curdling the blue into a cruel brown.  
The stain is small at first, though we all see it,  
it soon feels full and fleshy,  
painting a picture of gluttony over the sky.  
 
No blood on the pavement,  
not anymore,  
for the liquid of the creature siphons  
into the sky.  
Soon, the birds choke on the metallic tang of the wind.  
Soon, satellites and weather balloons corrode from the approaching gunk.  
Soon, the bark of trees peel off like snakes shed skin.  
Soon, there is no sun.