Poetic Interlude #4

In myth, Atlas holds up the heavens,

But it seems this world is mostly sky.

I wonder at the airy places in my heart,

Where cool numbness rises to form clouds

That drift through the caverns in the breeze

As the walls close in, and dissipate:

Tempestuous packets of electric fluid

Traveling with the currents of my mind,

Breeding into thunderstorms behind my eyes.

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