The Elephants

A lilted cloud puffs along.

One can form a dense subjectivity sitting in the big chair.

We dumped kerosene all over ourselves before we were concepts.

The inner realms of the human mouth suffer rare illumination.

A psychic finance of kill and threat remains webbed.

There is a hidden bottle symbolic of emotional resonance.

You maybe knew more about cloud-seeding and you gave up that life.

It might be the day's misshapen sling.