Meryl McQueen Debris
We curdled the sky With our pressed exhalation. Blue dome drops into high Methane ridges, a stressed exaltation, Tomorrow’s sure bet. Not the best Return on investment, gray-green Gunge in a lipstick smear on the cu(s)p Of the world. Backstory sheen Bleeds through where artistry ends. Inside, the artisan lingers Beneath a culture that depends On measure, eye & fingers Stretching to the memory of a still-blue sky.