you imagine the sticky type;
usually iris ceramic-wrap,
loosened socket bonds, releases
soap summers,
pin pops paint--
The neighbor waves his
hot pink plastic wands
on fickle wind.
and there goes cascading
the balloon
orbs to oily
Pavement.
the gloss grease shatters
at the surface, soul ascending
past the heights of Olympus.
the bubble
glass bowl fills to
its brim,
phosphors in the
day to close its
crystal curtain; when
sun permeates,
lungs shut.
when clouds cumber
Her million colors,
thin veil sheets shield
the rolling thunder; and
in this bubble
the center fumigates every ten seconds;
and one day this bubble
will no longer shutter perfume pictures of
way faraway fantasies.
its splatter will sicken some
but not others.