the sky is
picture perfect
a little too
pristine in
azure glory
spilling out
between perfect
fluffy clouds
my mind picks
out irregularities
a congruence of
similar shapes
almost copied
and pasted over
the dallas skyline

my pulse spikes
as i am unable to
differentiate if
it is stunningly real
or cunningly constructed
am i the coyote
barreling forward
on my acme rocket
toward a forever
watercolored skyline
only to crash
headlong into the
painted tunnel still
dripping on the cliff face

with no room for
hesitation i turn the
radio up louder and
slam my foot down
on the gas pedal
i was never quite
pretty enough to
hope to leave a
beautiful corpse behind
but i am persnickety
enough to leave one
long smear oozing
across beauty’s smile
take the wins when
they are offered
and never trust a
picture perfect skyline