Rhyme #1

The sky

white

Like a veil that covered

Milk that spilled

and soaked

The air

still

Like a statue played

Like the heat had scared

and bored

***

The white

of the sky

the cloud

mixes

and then is

the line

in no longer

existence

the white of the one

with the other

till heightens

together

like so

they go

and no stitches

layer on layer

the forming of antlers

and harder

becomes

the job of

the framers

but I try.

The white

mixes

the existence

till it heightens.

Stitches

of antlers –

no measures.

Launches

the framers

in textures

and softness

that feigns having pureness

however they’re jokers

they’re tricky mistreaters

one’s even to burners

and murmurs:

what suckers.

~ by iguerr