Abora

a storm before lucid dreaming

7/17/19 12:25PM

 

i like to sit

in those muggy humid storms

that pass through buffalo

like stampedes of soggy weight

and listen to each on of my trees

my beautiful, towering elders

who swallow me in roots

so that i may stay upright

i listen to them sway

each one

whirled and tumbled

 

and every doldrum hits me like

a ton of shit

in a half ton truck

and i sink deeper into my chair

 

the ancient wind and rain say

 

“go sleep, wake early

or you will be swept

 

take care of yourself

or drag your own heft”

 

and then a little green man

wearing leather

and old rotten shoes

stands behind my eyeballs

telling me so:

 

“listen to how beautiful

and dreadful

this driving rain can be

you and your trees

can never kill me”

 

so i sit and he writes

a blithering mess or two

as i drink my beer

and write deflectively

about cabbage and steer



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