sunday afternoon

Something about the tantric 14 surfaced that did away with rules. Air thick, a monkey scaled the roof and entered through a chiasmatic knot of electrical circuits. A solution and a cool wind blew down their throats. Afterward, the kids followed hot air balloons low and big across the street. Red bulb, green bulb, blue bulb. They had sifted out from behind trees as if they’d always been there but not seen. Wild black cherries burst from bushes. Hormones rose and lit and rose again. Peeking into, nobody got sucked in—hot air—just were crisp and on cue. The tantric 14 stomped grapes lower half and meditated upper half. Balance in collective torso, another successful game of limbo. Bubbles drip within themselves. On the second day there is flight.