A crack and a clap of thunder                                                          ­      
Makes you jump                                                             ­                       
Steam rolling off the cement                                                           ­           
In tidal waves of fog                                                              ­                    
The scent of freshly washed                                                           ­           
Leaves and pavement                                                         ­                     
Fresh in flared nostrils                                                         ­                 
The sound of the downpour                                                         ­         
Slaps your ears with splats                                                           ­             
Of condensation                                                     ­                               
But then the clouds rumble by                                                          
Freight train roaring                                                          ­                    
Full steam ahead                                                            ­                          
Lightening striking    
So close you can smell the
Burning scorch
Of electric
And then gone in a wisp of smoke

We may grow up
Grow naive
Grow too haughty
For our old friends
We may become old
Become senile
Become too ancient
For our previous life
And the world
May die
Die with pride
Die with shame
Die because
Space has become
Too small for the
All of us
Or
Perhaps
We just change
So much from
One day to
The next
That everything
Changes with
Us
But cannot keep up
So it falls behind
And grows naive
Becomes senile
And eventually
Dies
In the order of events
That we are born
That we grow a bit
Make a mistake
Grow a bit more
Make tons of mistakes
Then grow until
We can grow no more
(Which is impossible)
Until we cannot
Keep up with the earth's
Perpetual rotation
So we die
Space needed more room
Anyway.

A cup of water
Spills
And
Slides
Down the concrete of the driveway
Wriggles this way
And
That
Upon the rough road
I watch its struggles
With leaves
And
Sticks
And Fire Ants
And I think about how pretty
That would be running down
My arm
Except
Thick
And
Red
With rivulets of
Broken veins
Oh!
What wonder and
Beauty
That would be
Trickling down my
Pale skin

Sitting at the piano
Useless because I am deaf anyway
As a baby one too many insults were thrown my way
Hit a key
Vibrate through my arm like the rev of a Mustang engine
Poking needles into my brain saying listen
I try and try
But nothing is heard because I am deaf
I cry
My tears soaking the keys like a saltwater and vinegar bath
Acidic and all sodium
But then the piano sings to me
And cleans away the cobwebs in my ears
So I hear
And I listen to the vibrations that sound like
The purr of a Camaro
As well as the hum of a harp
Such a beautiful combination for a girl that
Can't hear

What if he knew about my thoughts?
                                                    
  ­                                    "What do you mean"?

I meant those ones that involve bad things.
                                                    
    ­                                  "Well, what do those bad thoughts include?"

I guess those ones that only crazy people think of...
                                                   
       ­                               "Like what?"

The ones that involve sad and love and God.
                                                   
        ­                              "All thoughts of God are crazy."

Well then I guess I am crazy. I guess we all are.
                                                   
        ­                               "And what of love?"

Forever, I suppose. Thoughts of forever.
                                                 
      ­                                 "Forever is an impossibility that clouds better judgment."

I guess I have horrid judgment then. I guess we all do.
                                                   
            ­                           "The talk of sad...and those?"

Death.....
                                            ­      
                                       "Death is for the weak. The ones that give up."

I guess I am weak, then. I suppose we all are.
                                                  
             ­                          "You are a crazy one. Different."

I get that a lot.
                                                 
              ­                         "But it is a good thing, I guess."

Why would that be?
                                                    
           ­                            "Because it means you are not afraid of those things."

I do not understand...
                                                   ­
                                      "You choose to think about that, therefore, you face the fear."

I suppose you are right.
                                           
                    ­                   "Of course I am."

Yes....of course.....
                                                   
 ­                                      "You are different because fear cannot taint you."

But oh, I am terrified.