Hum and Bluster

Tell you what, these days it’s like

it is always a windy night. What

I mean by that is things are always

moving, turning not sleeping soundly like

picture this mad song outside

with a mind of its own

that really wants in, a tempest

with a temper, a too-hard

handshake that won’t let go,

can’t sit still i fidget, looking

at something too far away

like staring too hard at the page

the tree turns to paper turns to sand

in yr eyes, like only when it’s green

when there’s money in yr bed blowing

away, windy and I can relate I say

under my breath, “do these limbs

not bend to forces I can’t name

with faces becoming clouds

in a somber glide, groaning

in the shake, it’s windy so

with all that air out there

how come I can’t breathe?”

and it starts to look like the storm

becomes a common thing, an always

thing, the now normal like bad news

and you’ve got options. Turn and run

the other way, stick it out or

chase it, know the storm like a glass

upside down, listen to what the wind

has to say, long and drawn out words

are mostly sober thoughts

it just takes a while to get to the point

but it’s been years and you’re not

any closer to catching the wind

and maybe it’s time to quit chasing

things you can’t hold and keep

it’s windy and my hands are open

and shaking, a poor net

for this tall order and where

are the bigger fish to catch

and when is the wanting too much

and when is the wind not enough

tearing down cities, drifting

loudly and yelling something like

“did you forget how I can be?”

how to know what you can’t

see, how to say how much

is enough when the numbers

won’t add up, can you even

believe how windy, I

can hardly keep my feet

on the ground when it won’t

stay still I can’t stay still, take

me with you wind, let

me fly away with force

like the tree tracing its roots

along the ground, here and gone –

you blink and miss yr chance

once in a thousand years

comes around a lot

more often these days,

like the record breaking

tidal hurricane wave

a horizontal forest flame

a seismic quake of earth

high holes bursting and torn

and no, nothing is changing up there

but here it’s all different

now inflation is less tangible

than wind, economy the bi-

weekly forecast, guess work

for them to decide and us to wonder

if lies taste any different

than lead, the water

is still brown the power

is still out and it is windy as shit

there is no shelter left

from our storm, it’s been

a long time coming, we saw

the shade coming and couldn’t

or didn’t stop the twiddle of thumbs

in skylit offices and underground

rooms where the wind

can only whisper thru

six feet of earth, the dirt

knows what you did, the sun

won’t shine down there

when you forget what the wind

smells like, it becomes

a myth, as if the sky

could really change

give us a break

this is business, not religion

worship is a game of symbols

with no winner, only plastic

bags moving aimless across

the weeds of dust and past

hills made of shadow and sand

still falling thru hands

still shaking and still

the wind blows, hum

and bluster, we are

still here

for now