but now it’s just
an ordinary sky
nearly
the dissettlement of distress
the intensity remains
always trip
the archaeology
over
just it’s half a faded cloud now
drifting away
well
this is the hope
to call it a cloud
really
is silly
it doesn’t go away
there is no horizon
inside
rather it slowly
like an apple
left on the shelf
it rots
rots
is rotting
rotting
i wish i could flick
my wavelength
of time