thunderstorm

the splintered deck
was still hot to the touch
when the rain began
making its
little patterns upon the wood;
like warring battleships, the clouds, they
argued loudly across a dinner table of
water vapor:
something about the upcoming election;
and the lightning relished in the midst of the din,
joining the rain in some sort of
blurry
dance
while i swung
with the metal chains held
tight
in my hands;
i had always been a summer child.

sunset

every
footstep
was
perfectly in time
with the steady heartbeat
of the militant revolution
in the sky,
and
not even the world’s
strongest
    largest
         most powerful
armies could stop the late leaves
       nor the freshly shattered
          chambers of december’s cold heart
                      from
    falling
and the fighting continued
          in a long, drawn-out,
                     death:

slow-motion style
           over an
                                 unwavering horizon.