by Jack Cooper

They were here when I arrived;
decadent strata of spots
in rich orange, red, and green,
a pointillist Zhangye Danxia
on the ceiling of my student en-suite.

I tried to kill them, but they came back,
appearing out of nowhere
                   like an absurd flash mob
so I shower each morning
under a hundred spiteful sunrises,
a firework display
exploding in slow motion.