teacup circles Neptune

while looking up for the first time in a long
time i noticed the other day (tuesday?)
empty bright clouds like cheesecloth
straining the day into an overcooked porkchop
of a day: gristly and mean.
it was a day when Apollo, hungover, pissed
his mushroom pissings back down
into the nightsoil cities
glowering
and head wobbling cursed mortals all.

it's a deliriant, we delirious danced and screamed
"Oh God of Gods and God of Man, kill us
dead and make our bones
dance this three-step,"
but redcap magics kept everyone
gray and awash in uisce beatha

(we're in high lattitudes these days,ion
waterfalls above us make the colors
our pale skins soak in
our eyes see suddenly within pines)

and the empty clouds cried out in
our minds, or we imagined in those cities
we'd built to defy the goat
that a great minde entity looked down swiftly
choosing and separating the vulgar and
infested from the clear righteous but
really it was
only us
after all.