Bidding Them Access

Raging tornadoes

 coursing the land

They enter our psyches

low pressure at hand

To flatten our tinder

and rip out its studs

Our entry and exit

left deep in the mud

They hail from the flatlands

of thoughts we disperse

And leave in a cyclone

of verses they curse

Attempting to stop them

we close our eyes tight

But ears bid them access

— to welcome their blight