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