On my stomach
The clouds are cotton above me
Floating stationary
Soft and supple
Temperature drops by two
Cotton daubed grey
Crusty and firm
Blue elliptical cut-outs in haphazard sizes
Fall in great numbers
Thousands of cocktail umbrellas open
Angry yellow pipe cleaners
Bend and thrust from beneath the cotton
They deck the sky with fury
Electric upon my skin
Chill in my bones
Then the glue weakens
The cotton falls and disappears
Reveals a bright yellow painted circle
A perimeter of orange clay spikes
I watch
I warm
Two plastic eyes open
The black centres shake foolishly
A row of elbow noodle teeth smile down upon me