Tern circles – airy arrogance – leaves
me spiked on its final shriek
wondering how to dress a sudden vortex
whirling at my brow.
You won’t notice that the sky has fallen
and I’m wearing a bandana.
You’ll retreat as always – flight
is all that we agree on.
Day’s imprinted – bad news coffee
out of taste and time,
I growl with reckless intuition
skirling into cloud.