the sky dribbled down my chin,
tasting like raspberries,
so I reached up for my gun
and shot a few more down.
The clouds came crashing,
like tears,
and they were delicious,
sweet and red,
so human and loved.
I love the sounds they made
when I pierced them-
short, surprised, secretive.
They were freed from their comic-strip panels
right down my esophagus.
Satisfied, I wipe the juice off my chin.
I feed what's left of the cloud to my camel
and we ride off,
looking for new clouds.
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