The overwhelming sky enthrals me
shows me its magic, fills me with glory.
Layers of stratus, piles of towering cumulus
cirrus lacing glazes overtop
neon pink icy scribbling on an evening horizon
fireworks sunsets, pale sleepy dawns
reds, yellows, purples, greens overwrite the blue and black.
Gauguin, Picasso, Rothko must have felt this,
the Starry Night is truth, no wonder Vincent suffered so.
Genghis rode under this dome that encompasses all of our lives
did its pressure drive him to the cities for refuge rather than plunder?
The overwhelming sky appears to have no end
although I know that it is but the skin on the planet apple.
It bears down on me, conquers me
filling me up with it’s immensity
until I spill this burden of words,
to offer them as sacrificial token
trying to explain this hold
bidding to exorcise it
it is the master of me.
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