the
beauty of an atmosphere becoming an insurrection is how its convection, blooms
with
clay pots
at
the ready
menially
mending
fences
fencing
the
meniscuses need fluids
the
exchanges are viscous
the
thermal pressure
dynamic
slip surfactants
leave
a neon trail
of
paper money’s
flashing
gold lies
saying
the weather
is
going to be bad
somewhere,
we
don’t
know yet
but
you better get
battening
down
on
the hatches
double
knotting the sails
wrapping
them tight
and
coiling them
around
the masts
the
little harbors
with
a Southwest tongue
to
the sea provide
a
semblance of hope
when
the great spun top
of
warm ocean anger
keeps coming
to lace
a ghost Summer
desperation gradient
over the fields aloft
of ice and knives
a coming Winter
casts over us
everyone
is telling you
to keep power close by
to cup the fires in the hearth
while
the raging roiling high winds
and thrown clouds
boil into our tannic
late leaning October minds
we might surely be trembling
if there are endless snaps and cracks
of
the rain, if all that promised torrent
banes
us with its heavy boughs
and
ritual geometries
like a sky born Leviticus might
grabbing hold of our divinities
painting
our faces with scannable
wet
sand shifting deuteronomic codes
no,
the roads are out
so
we listen to the television
while we still can
while we look out windows
to feel those raised whips
to see those two flags atop each other
meant
to warn off the approach
of
any fool hardy enough
to want to witness an angry shore
where
wind and wave misbehave
tearing their sharps into everything we know
cutting
deep into any containment
we
might think, can withstand
low
pressure and high surrender
a
storm is coming
they say
so
it looks like
I
am going to stay
in
for a few days
and
listen
to
the way
wind
and water
scatter
fire
digging at the Earth
while a bad Moon
and
every river
in
its path
starts rising
higher
EJR
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