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
(The New Room: July, 2026)
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