Spring and winter are wrestling with March
One day it is seventy-two and almost balmy
By that evening we are in danger of getting frostbite
For two days we are running around in shorts.
The third day has us bundling into our snowsuits.
We need our de-icer the minute we leave it in our garage
Buds on lilac trees freeze before they can open
Spring and winter flip flop back and forth, flexing muscles
We do not dare plant anything until May.
April is almost as iffy as March.
We are pawns in this climatic game of chess.
Inaccurately predicting their next moves
vocation to bloom
puzzled buds in dizziness ...
spring smiles soothingly
20 February 2022
The air was metallic,
it had the taste of long spilled blood,
the smell of copper pennies.
A red-eyed sky prowled through bare trees
wind-smears sizzled over steel pylons,
a galvanic hissing ignited unseen frights.
Heat and cold were deranged
by magnetic layers of madness,
there was a fizzle of white noise in the hedgerows.
Fractions of atmosphere separated,
flew away.
Feral conditions ransacked the horizon.
Experts talk of systems
and patterns,
explanations always come
after the land is mauled,
hearts wounded.
No one saw it leave,
it did not move on
it moved inward to rattle flesh and bones,
it remained as zones of uncertainty
while day and night grew weary of each other.
After the electric storm
cats were found in other parts
alive
but forever haunted by daylight.
The air was metallic,
it had the taste of long spilled blood,
the smell of copper pennies.
A red-eyed sky prowled through bare trees
wind-smears sizzled over steel pylons,
a galvanic hissing ignited unseen frights.
Heat and cold were deranged
by magnetic layers of madness,
there was a fizzle of white noise in the hedgerows.
Fractions of atmosphere separated,
flew away.
Feral conditions ransacked the horizon.
Day and night grew weary of each other.
Experts talk of systems
and patterns,
explanations always come
after the land is mauled,
hearts wounded.
No one saw it leave,
it did not move on
it moved inward to rattle flesh and bones,
it remained as zones of uncertainty
as days and nights grow weary of each other.
After the electric storm
cats were found in other parts
alive
but forever haunted by daylight.
The air is metallic,
a taste of old pennies.
A zombie sky hides in our eyes
as an extra in a walking movie.
Torpid vapors
hang over the mind
bleed an avian infrared blood
as vision.
Stale winds smear
statically charged branches,
there is a fizzle of white noise
in the hedgerows.
Anger is rampant,
the anger is a malignancy,
children feel and know this
as the very truth.
Adults believe in systems
and patterns,
explanations always come
after the land is wounded.
This is not weather,
this is the way
days and nights grow tired
of each other.
Such climatic intimations
do not move on,
they enter battery held cameras
and the electric hives
of humming fears;
are recoded as warm or cold fronts
funnels and zones of uncertainty.
Later, cats are found
in faraway places
alive but forever haunted
by the spaces between each night.
the air is metallic,
the taste of old blood
this is an un-dead sky
what is contained in this pulsating blitz
is that
not usually notice
- wind-smears through electric branches
- the white fire of small wings
scooped into a deeper distance
- the smell of malformed frights
shaking paralyzed rains
- magnetic minims of heat and cold
deranged by layers of madness
this in not weather
this is the way
days and nights are killed
fractions of a textured atmosphere
separate
detach
fly away
fingertips
touch the weight
of a bulging ozone
no one saw it leave
it did not move on
it moved inward as such events do
later
cats were found in other parts
alive
but forever haunted by daylight
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