Troposphere, Stratosphere, Neosphere

Viewed side on, the inner curve
Is dense-ish orange, middle
Snowy white, and outer blue.

From the ground, it’s mostly blue,
Although some days a thick haze
Or low angle to the sun

Reminds you, you live your lives
Down in your burnt-orange soup.
What to do, oh, what to do?

You’re bugs in your envelope
You’ve worked so hard to pollute,
But now that it’s time to hatch

And discard your afterbirth,
Orange dawn’s dawning on you.
Your afterbirth isn’t yours.

You’re part of the placenta,
Part of the waste of what’s done.
What’s going on won’t be you.