belly up, seal-suited, booted and solstice shy

the weight under a sickle curved sky-sail, the icicle smile

of a frictionless fear, wears this glass thin but while

 

wise in countless ways, beyond the power

of n at least, stays wary yet of the sightless beast hidden

behind the curve

 

above and below 66.5°, you will find your breath tastes

harder where the wait bears down as a ferocious maul

for the sound grows further from your there

and anywhere else

 

this here is where

the darkness of  a never dawning light

will swallow your whole once the green

curtains close and you can learn

no more