Suddenly I hover sixteen feet above the ground,
crucified against the sky,
more Dali than Golgotha,
less a photoshopped internet meme.
Grasshoppers do not leap high enough
to tickle the bottoms of my bare feet.
I regret displacing migrating birds
a few feet in either direction.
I am not so convincing at being a savior
dressed as I am in my Cubs world series t-shirt,
a Joshua Tree baseball cap,
and olive drab shorts.
How unsolved detached Rubik’s cubes
adhere me to the sky is not clear
without a credible matrix, perspective,
or a humpback whale on the buffalo grass below.
There is a structural consideration
that excavates the subjective
in opposition to the biblical texts
reassembling as an inky water vapor.
See. See there. See the thin black mist
constructed only with male raindrops.
It manifests as a Lord’s Prayer cloud
in homage of the Thunder God’s merger with El.
If you are good at practicing mirages,
please levitate up here so I may view you eye to eye
and ask that you scratch my nose
since I have an itch due to my lack of city permits.
copyright © 2019 Kenneth P. Gurney
Umflop 