Hieronimo, being once again As mad as concentration, jumps out plain Without a net, with gaping air the only Silent partnership, anent his lonely Soul, his silent speech a stinging rain. The clouds rip fog-edged, plentiful and plump; As days roil quickly by in endless jump. All controls are sheared, but wind to grasp; Fruit-colored sun, and then Red planets rising, plummet-gasp.
|
