On the Edge of Clouds
It’s still the wild west out here,
a flood of sins and nature’s laws.
The sky is blue as the deep sea,
the landscape’s prairie-blond,
and straight as a bridge span.
It’s as if you could sing out, and
be heard at the edge of clouds.
Heard a dog down by the river again,
… although it’s really just a stream.
That dog’s a mean mutt, grubby,
and whining over an unmarked
grave and a broken wagon wheel.
I tell you, that dog will be lucky
if it dies in its sleep.
AI Digital Artwork is my own, created using AI Midjourney. Imagery and poems ©Misky 2023. Artwork and poem created for Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie Photo Challenge. The original prompt image is “Here“.
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