Jupiter Away May Poem by Tailor Bell

It is not
That there is not
Enough space

Around this hill
There is plenty
Soaring around
Warren of this bright yellow bird

No one will
Dispute the assumed noise
Or effects of precise blunt trauma

Achieving partial justice
Once predicated to the many

Marigolds, willows
And all bursting blooms
Flying feathers
In bright disposition

Pushed aside
Upon the arrival

A succession of neat scorched black cars

Killers,

Hustled to their deaths
By glossy capped policemen
Floating, flashbar pops and fizzles

The nearly singed peripheral attendees
Immortalized at this dark edge
Forest precarious,
Perilous indeed

The passing, now well passed
But in fading distant reflection
Coincidence spoiled by vaporous logic

Our only way now is back
Through thick guts and vats
Chaos of a cosmic slingshot

Let us escort
Our gleeful miniature stallions
To the mouth
Of the stone depository

As we imagine, Brutus
In that unbarred briefness
Every day of every year

At the immortal stairway
In procession
To Atlantis

We see them
Above the motorcade
Godless, should you frame them
Heartless, should you wave them

Inbound, the Shoemakers perfect train

Truthful in our secret mistake
Our trust

Here is time and 51, divide them
Without abbreviated light

Frozen
Under Orion,
Even fair Cleopatra stares