Typhoon

Avalanche on Mt. Timpanogos Utah
Image via Wikipedia

I laughed at him–Dr. Lang–the psychiatrist.
Apparently he’s never been at the edge
of any natural disaster–the debacle turbulence
of almost pissing yourself–how long can you hold it?
Or sensed the secret–why a tamed dog one day
ripped apart the baby he once played with. Can you
foresee a trifling accident turn into a typhoon?
Bloodshot eyes witness the terror in the sun
rising, pouring, without a care of the closed curtains
into my sixth floor windowed room. Ignore the taunts
of the stickman’s shadow leaping into the wind
of a cyclonic train. I laughed at him. Unaware of
Nature’s fickle primordial demons, he demanded
I postpone until next month’s appointment.

DoubleSpeak

Dust storm in NSW
Image by DabaYu via Flickr

In the mist of mistakes lies trimuph.
When optimism is all I have left to risk
giving way to hopes of a juniper night:
Holding you again. Wanting something
I can’t have whole. I struggle in pieces…

I started drinking my desires away around 4:00 p.m.
It didn’t help the crying, as my shoulders, drunken 
they weigh the hours and the minutes of this drought
silently anticipates seeing your golden eyes again
expectation wants nothing more than your kisses now.

Vulnerable to prays when I might be an atheist.
Prays for things out of my control, I meditate a howl
that is so quiet, but roars your name. Underneath bellows
relinquishing all the burdens of my travel through the fire.