Storm-Vein

The sap from the trees—everywhere this morning—the midnight storm did a number—Governor is calling for a state of emergency.

“…What about the vagrants? (Why in God’s good name, are those panhandlers positioning themselves at the forefront of my mind, infiltrating my most personal of personal thoughts)”

“got no idea’r dare, couldn’t care less neither, surprise you be askin’”

         “Yeah, me too”

Scattered everywhere—punctured tires from branches—prematurely broken from their mother’s veins.

“This debris’ all o’er the place, we ain’t doin’ shit today, lets see if we can’t make it to Downunder for a cupla cole ones—God, sure hope’s still dare—hope damage din’t make It that nort”

(in a daze, mesmerized by how a simple storm can alter both the familiar and one's ability to perceive abstractly), “yeah… 

...sure hope not”

Head on over to D'Verse, where Open Link Night is in full swing.

The Orator

Atop a building a ball bounced down

Not a ball I’ve ever before found

Not an oval, not a circle

Not bouncy, not lacking air,

Perhaps it’s not a ball at all

Over a bridge a body sits

Shallow yet overflowing,

Tiny yet large

A body like this I’ve never seen in all these years

Ever moving, always changing how it appears

The closer we get the further it disappears

In reverse the shorelines become crystal clear

Down the street I flexed my voice

Ahem, yes, I’ve made a choice,

Speaking out to all who’d listen

Not overtly loud, not in whisper

I have some peace I need to make,

An old orange crate I arose,

On to some larger ones that hung around,

Six feet high I surveyed in each direction

Cleared my voice to state,

To the empty street my speech competes

With rustling plastic and back alley creaking doors,

Bicycle wheels not properly oil

The emptiness took my words and carried them out

Echoing my message to the mysterious far

My words were crisp and they were clean

I woke up this way,

Very early on this day

And sleepiness has yet to arrive