The Sky Just Now

by Darryl Price



has somehow gotten off its swaddled behind and put on its new face, your own dipped in glass, of many   

green eyes for simple good measure , lifting

up my

own  morning lids with softly pulsating 

fingertips I might add. But

there could have just

as easily


been a tiger

of some sort who's

simply learned to

navigate such

high roads or has

been swept up in

his own floating


dream-escape. Who am

I to take the

wild wind's first showing off tag

of the new healing 

day's projected profit, on the latest

cloud around,

and give it a


regular cup of Joe

name? I've no desire to 

tame the moment life's

leaf turns

itself full into

the sun's notorious plans for world domination,

laughing at nothing in the whole burning process, unless you so desire it, and with me.