Blackout-ish Poem 02.03.14 (redux)

An irritating squirrel says
To an umbrella made of stone:

You are a conflation of an Absurdist dialectic.
You are an impossible form.

The umbrella sprouts a stratocumulus cloud on its ferrule and floats away.

The squirrel, inspired, writes a sonnet, follows that with an ode, then a sestina.

What I’m Reading:

The farther she moves away from the door, the harder it is to breathe. She feels like she’s swallowing buckets of water every time she inhales, but she’s lived enough years with the taste of salt on her skin to not panic at this impromptu encounter between air, sky, and ocean.

— Mariette Navarro / Ultramarine