Weather Reporting That Never Is

Went outside with an hour of pre-storm anticipation sizing up and down the streets

I wanted to figure what this air felt like when it’s not stuffed into an apartment
(developing an accent)-

Air that is hastily being replaced by water vapours

Well spaced, well paced drops of the now salt-less Atlantic quip everything they touch

(because they reflect the snark and sass of city life)

Waters of the Atlantic are already all round me

Litres of the Atlantic will lash all round me

Pending cataclysms breed community

But is there any to spare for the one who is

More kin to the destruction than to community?

This one who asks for the worst of a storm to come, killing come

Wash it all away

My criminal thoughts don’t weigh on the mercury but it pushes down on me

Down and squashed out to the edges

One fatalistic anarchic cillium propelling this amorphic homogenous homo-genus

to unknown ends