Waiting for a birthing pool
to throw up a dream chaser
nestled in chains.
The grip was easing out
on sun, stung by moon.
Asteroids start hitting again.
The runaway tiger had
turned cannibal, to practice
a new escapology.
A spiral of smoke
rises after the hunt.
You throw the glances back.
Someone will put a knife
in the tulips. Take home
the colours of death.
The celebration starts today.
Children of a bubble have
come out on the road.