there is a pinkorange beigeopal lantern
in the corner of my sight

sadly, I cannot describe its suchness
to convey how it poltergeists my soul.

you'd to have to fisherboy the crescent
moon in the midnight stars

to appreciate the way a dense stream of snowdots
rushes past the molten barbieplastic pearl

there, it staccatos mesmerising patterns
in the short spaces between the stars

that air looks thick and soupy
as if the snow were being funnelled through a secret pipe.