Tempest
The breeze moves us forward.
It is my body that does the movement.
No, it is the wind and the clouds.
The hollow core of the funnel spews
garbage like a drunkard. A house,
a home, car, no, a plane flies by. What is this?
It is a gray coloration brought on by the clouds
above. It is a bear, a tree, a dog, a family?
No, it is a tempest.
Suffocation
The bee is trapped
in the barrel at
the bottom of the
lake; the barren
abyss of nothingness.
It prepares for the blast
of explosive lifelessness. But water
continues to seep in. Its fate is in cubic
feet – slowly depleting. Obscene is
the bee's life. Depravity and death awaits us.
About the Creator
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