Rolling Masses of Heavy Metal Blimps

Rolling masses of heavy metal blimps
zig-zag in gridded patterns
and then pour drastically over the cities edges
like maple syrup off a stack of waffles.
 Drifted. Shifted.
See through to the other side.

Ants fill the bagel-shop
fitting sideways into a crack
with their onward attack.
They could find us on a park blanket
or in a Swiss vault with such a
sticky mess were never gonna make it...
Pick up the pieces,
I see they fit.
Trees shake on future paths
seedlings fall faster than jizz on a biscuit.
Leaving after the leaves drop
and that means a lot,
because we met with masks on
and ended face down, eyes backwards.
Fire was all we knew.
Couldn't stop the eventual ash pile that grew.
If drips of love from clouds can cheat the earth by sliding across willows and gather in pools next to toadstool groves,
then maybe it means I'm not a fool, but I stumble and mumble on crumbles of what makes a cloud able to hold itself together when the winds blow and below this, a surface that needs soaking. I navigate my fall and drift down plant stems onto the backs of grasshoppers into the arms of ants so that the dirt doesn't touch me. Barking animals dance on bent over vegetables and shedding woody bits from trees with their claws that often change color. Scraping away. Freeing bits to become trapped in iron-grates during rainstorms with the rats holding vanilla bean tubs tossed by ice-cream heads and too much cane on the membrane killing a future bed instead of laying under its canopy and pine padding as my santuary. Gaze up as rolling heavy metal blimps go past and pour over the cities edges. The outskirts are a memory that bleeds and a cutting river, cutting yet another crack through this head. Let it soak into the sensory.