Down here, tonight,
on the green ground,
it’s quiet and still,
vacuumed.
I look up, by chance,
to test for rain.
The darkening clouds sail,
like a float of smoke.
A diamond of dirty gulls
rides the breeze, like flying M’s,
and I fancy I feel feather fluff
and whoosh of wings
Brand "X" , and ACME, poems and stories. Surreal, sappy, funny, horrific, and human.
AreMyFeetOffTheGround 
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