Hurricanes
Hurricanes Clouds do not know where to rain and the air smells of electric storms. Blood, as it is logical, dissolves into the river of concern. Its honey removes the sediment that falls on the island bed. From each star hangs a probe, a 110-volt extension, in whose spectrum eyes see translucent viaducts crossing water. Everything is organism. Here an artery, there a frond, a mudhole its demulcent. In an expanding and contracting of pulses, all is sown land. Ignited, light-matter floats on the water as its flora is dragged adrift. The only shore is night and it's no shelter. Eyes do not know where to cry and the air is lightning's prism. Where is the deity? Blood is tragic in its full torrent.