Load up the wayback machine
Come and behold a scene
Marvellous creatures with wings at their spines
Wet-eyed and soft-boned things
Scratch open their throats to sing
Clouds like jellyfish smeared on the sky
Wayward son, where is the hurricane
Buried? Grabbing the growling mane
Of a forest fire, your fingers defrost
A bird, an egg, an angel perhaps
More than a child, a child perhaps
More than a ghost