the storm clouds
are dark
full of shit
don’t want that dropping in
on me
but it is on me
it’s in me
the lightning strikes
illuminating the folds
of the clouds
that strangely
resemble the folds
of my brain
skipping my pills
makes the same
bolts and jolts
in my dark folds
like those in the
loud
clouds
the absurdity
of the present storm
being the thing
that protects me
from myself
keeps me from facing
that ever-bright
sunlight
that shows all the faults
pain
tears
and the things that could happen
like a fortune cookie
with folds
like the clouds
like my brain
telling me things
I really don’t want to know
or face
or deal with
or run from
the clouds
bring pressure
to my sinuses
to my head
in turn
to my brain
which has folds
like the clouds
like the fortune cookie
I could smash a
fortune cookie
under my fist
I could smash my skull
under my fist
in turn
smashing my brain
but those storm clouds
those damn clouds
I can’t smash those
I have to ride this storm out
no matter
how it makes me feel
what it makes me do
and how frozen in time
it keeps me
until that blasted
fireball in the sky
burns through
shining light
on all the crap
that will have to dry out
that I will have to clean up
but I am being protected
from myself
join me for POETIC ANARCHY, a 4 week poetry course where we make sure that WHAT you say is more important than HOW you say
