No matter where it goes

No matter where it goes

The wind blows for me.

Within the eye

Of a perfect storm

The stillness

Is toxic.

The rain eats

Into the beaten earth like acid.

The faint touch

Of a milky sun, burns

Pale, starved skin,

Shredded to the bone.

Dried, by the

Ragged remains

Of yesterday’s rainbow.

As heavy clouds turn,

In ever decreasing circles.

Rolling in,

With ominous intent.

One on top of another,

Like over fed rats.

Bloated, fat stomachs,

Ripe for bursting,

Ignorant of their fate.

Tumbling and turning, blindly.

Held in the teeth

Of the wind,

Rubbing each other up,

The wrong way.

Carried along,

A reluctant,

Recalcitrant collective,

Adrift on a stream

Of unconscious process,

That is set to end,

With a sudden,

Blinding insight,

When the storm breaks.