The Blue Cloud
Plastic metal click.
The spark burns.
A tiny mechanical dragon.
Eyes alight a little:
the small drug’s dark pulse.
Acrid and fragrant
this shadow friend.
Dragged in,
then exhaled,
and the blue cloud
a thousand miles under the sky.
Published by Ben Preston
Ben Preston is a poet washed up in London’s Somers Town. He’s worked as a bartender, factory operative, diamond controller, dabbled in philosophy and dropped out of everything. He’s starting again. He’s using the skills he’s developed in creative writing to forge a new life and a new identity.
View all posts by Ben Preston
Ben Preston 