I wonder,
If the sunrise ever looks down on our inhabitants,
And holds it's breathe as the beauty of life overwhelms even that of the sky

I waste time worrying about the things that won't happen
therefore preventing things that should

Thunder echoes.  
Flashes through billions
Of hailstones smashing against
Trees, leaving clouds of

Crushed leaves hanging, slowly
Blending into the chaos of
Angry weather, then: Nothing.
I worry for my windows,

Pounded with ice and shaking
From relentless thunder.
Nature, now, is an angry
Woman,

Child, heirloom or love stolen.
Furious fire, skies dark with a
Thousand wings.
Drop your swords and run,

Men. Your homes are in
Flames. Your armours as
Useless as your wet pairs of
Long johns.

Here dead we lie
Because we did not choose
To live and shame the land
From which we sprung.

Life, to be sure,
Is nothing much to lose,
But young men think it is,
And we were young.

Am I the only idiot
Who's still holding onto the past
Memories
Feeling
Love
For someone who had already left?

You were as temporary
as the incendiary
summer heat
that baked our skin to golden brown
& sent us seeking shade
to simmer down.

You were as temporary
as the indulgence of our inner child,
time spent sprawled out in our sheets
watching Saturday cartoons
without a care or central air,
entangled in our underwear.

You were as temporary
as the cherry
popsicle stains melted into my skin
with our summer sin.
90°.
Sticky & sweet.

I remember pretending
we were wearing lipstick
or were deranged carnies
on the run.

We laughed at our absurdity,
drunk on our fun,
composing insane scenarios
to shake up the inane existence
of a small town Midwest summer,
languid with little other entertainment.

I'd wield an empty wooden stick
& read one-liners from the side of it.

You were as temporary
as the tattoos we got together
at the dusty county fair
that were sure to wear away
with sweat & sultry August air.  

You were my summer love affair.

Toddler tears, infant despair.
The grown-ups adopt their
Panic, and lose control
Rendering their children
Orphant in the darkness that
Absent adult calmness
Creates.

Short beds, cribs, toys
Scattered around;
Superman bedding and
Uncemented concrete in
Piles where peace once
Played with the
Peaceful.

Take these demolished dreams
And newborn nightmares.
Breathe life back into each
Bombed home.
Rebuild young
Hearts with their
Rubble.

I see tears before me.
Raindrops on a
Window.
Flowers
Drowning.