weather poem part 3: the hurricane (renga)

Everyone mentions the weather; the wind calls back cracks and fells branches. Each day branches, grows moments tethered to your heart, flows in the stiff breeze. Breezes carry drawn scenes to the eyes you stare through before loves shatter. Limbs shatter and fall, sneer, snicker, sheath their leaved grins beneath cracked windshields. Trucks hide their windshield faces kissing trees with tongues dampened in dewdrops. Dewdrops wake the day like a strewn palm frond fallen on a slalomed street. The hurricaned street punished, pounded with shouting children in her ears. Cover ears with palms mouth jacked open, jawbone set the storm will find you. You will stand speechless waiting, mouthing words written on a paper soul. Your soul, a willow, lowers her head, locks hanging over hiding eyes. And don't your eyes hide some mischievous greatness hatched from the egg carton? Chicks, cartons of smokes, nicotine working the room, grinning like white wine... Wham! Thud. Wine is blood aged fine like a drunk Jesus munching matzah balls. Balls-up bitten kid falls off his board, skins his knee, lies flat on the walk. Flocks of ducks follow, walk in his wake, hunt for crumbs to find his way home. There his home is your heart piping, gushing red gold in racetrack circles, Five hundred circles follow cars in flowing waves that shoot through your veins. Veins on the train tracks fight to hold moments, heading for that same railyard. The railyard in late November makes thanksgiving for each day living. Know that living is the present, gifted each day and remembered less. Less worth valued more is the way our days progress; so goes inflation. Inflation balloons from latex orbs at parties, rises to the sky. A dusk sky yawning tastes of peach and magenta, nectar on her claws. Desire's claws sharpened by each stare, each wayward glance held to the grindstone, Stone and flesh meet hard, come together with a crack of cane freshly cut. We play a cut scene of writing by candlelight; the power is out. Night creatures come out, the walls glow red with shadow dipped in God's own dark. Sweet dark breaks apart mangled by a brash, buzzing gas generator. Generator bits burn, bumble, hum some old tune too soon forgotten. I have forgotten where this hurricane began, lost in the moment. Keep this moment please protract its heart in your heart and remember me. Hear me call your name softly in the silent dark, wait, hold me, stop, stay. Shadows just stay here waiting, watching, hungering to breathe in your arms, Asleep in your arms, frozen in your eyes; goodbye, the eye of my storm. Twenty-three storms break swarm the Gulf with a rumble with a flash and crack. Branches crack and fall the wind calls back; the weather mentions everyone.