Blue storm

dirigibles rising.

I crouch under

blue wind.

 Fertile is the storm

sapphire crystal so dusty and blue

expelled through rigid piping;

a mechanical rectum. Since when

does steel emulate flesh?

Breaking blue wind

synchronicity fuels our exhaustion.

 Blue flatulence under a tailpipe

splinters my breath,

a percolating brew forever gentle

supine and eternal on this tiled pasture

and blue,

(to see the video image of the Blue Storm: see my instagram page: smithheartpoet)

© Richie Smith