a pixel fly headbutts a window pane a rippling aurora skews sights wrapping the tin of a car like a halo chattering crumbs cluster over one another like waves of sticky beetle limbs flustering to avoid contact with the cloud-wreathed flaming sun an august cyclops rose bows baronially under the weight of its petal ruff and blood sparkling thorn cuff a clock's flamboyant hands chase one another around its flat face in time with the ticking above a crabbing plane seems to want to dive bomb me its stuka shark jaw slavering grimace could pirouette plummet into my x-marks-the-spot roof wipe me out, wipe me out like an error on a whiteboard with your little finger during a lecture about aerodynamics wipe me out, like the black head spot I am, then pop me like a zit then smear my remains across the mirror like a squashed fly, like a hugging aurora, like the crumbing crumbs, like a nosing rose, like a flattening air crash, so you can admire your yellowing toothy smug grin
John Gay, English poet and dramatist, was born today in 1685.
The Tunguska event, a large explosion, generally attributed to the air burst of a meteor, occurred today in 1908.
Poetry 365 