cloud 7, ate, 9

that tobacco nimbus
sits above the unicorn’s nightmare;
another smoke stack
below the snare-
with technicolor fangs
dropping acid
rain aside
its own iron oxide.

with static mandible,
the horses gallop
trots, echoed by it’s talk
signed by language-
amputees and all.

a seizure into the sunset
for the sake of reaching stars-
but there’s no smile
behind the velvet cloth,
only a horse of a different color
-with reality in his iris;
now he wears an eye patch.

50/50 vision
to splinter through the gimmick,
the cardboard cutouts
have fallen down;
the light at the end of the tunnel
chips away from the brick rubble..
cheap paint.

passing woes
with frontal lobes in a top hat
and midnight cloak-
a tea party in-sanity
precedes
on the frown
of this dirty cloud.

a unicorn,
as happy as he could be
on cloud 7
-sipping down debris
from broken martini glasses,
munching on the ashes.

he’s found this cloud’s silver lining
-below the tar and sperm:
deciding between a premature
umbilical cord
or the sky’s thick cancer.
unraveling the glitter,
he coughed blood and mucus
while he spun the rainbows noose.

he’s found the pot at the end
-and used it to cook his heroin.

no need for the colorful conscience.

the unicorn backstrokes
through a pool of ruber-bands
-a slam dance
to split the vein
between syringe and hand.

.. he overdosed on Halloween.

a fantasy in the seams
of cataract dreams-
searching for some kind of heaven
on the sins of Cloud 7;

angels behind barbed wire,
with popcorn and ticket stubs
at the golden gate’s line

watching..
as cloud 7 ate 9.