Cloud of Feelings

I want to hold a cloud but it’s made of  air

a smog of   tweets makes a world go round,

the confusion of  clouds predicting a storm

think nothing of  it, bombs are natural now,

explosives wrapped in their hollowed brows

exploiting crisis and pushing the inevitable,

bluebirds know it’s a new day, they whistle

without confusion, listen, how do we speak

to light at the end of  the holographic tunnel,

my first smoking question of a new season

to begrudge feelings we once had, released,

the future reading books and understanding

tweeting, unbreathable air, and the confusion

of  so much suffering and sovereign comfort,

exploring the rites of  violence, an old feeling

publicized and burning, cyclones, heilstorms

slapping the drafts, think nothing of it, birds—

get out of  their way, the powerful are talking,

don’t breathe the confusion, sideswiped in

holographic traffic, a question for bluebirds:

if  you, dear birdsong, took away our clouds

of  feelings would anyone notice send tweet