In the Grasp of Some Thing

Our hot air balloon will go no higher.
It seems we’re floating in a quagmire –
prisoners in the grasp of some Thing.

Holy mucilage!

It looks indestructible,
but not entirely indescribable.

GIGANTIC, red-eyed, purply and white.
The Thing absorbs everything in sight.
It’s oozing, flowing, all consuming –
a shapeshifting, gooey, menacing
alien blob from deep outer space
or some other dangerous place.

Holy emanations!

The dreadful odor makes us scream,
"It’s impersonating rotting ice cream!"

Can nothing stop it?

The End

Let’s hope not.

Until then, Steve will continue to blog
about the ever growing, unstoppable blob.

A silly poem by Tracy Adams

Hot air balloon from

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