I bet you never thought you'd see Spraycrete in a poem. Mwah-ha-ha.Four Seasons Storms
We were warned to expect extreme conditions;
We decided to ignore that, and create our own.
Nature's forces executed a home invasion
In every space we tried to occupy.
One a sauna crackling with static--
It killed all connections, took out the tech.
We were racing to get to the plane to the desert
When the hurricane winds tore the roof off
Another haven, and the rains sluiced in,
For steamy weeks. Now there are mushrooms
Growing through the floor. We boarded
The life raft as the humidity rose and the chill
Spraycrete ceiling dripped stalactites. I know
It's your sweat or your spit only by its warmth.
I could stand back and admire for a while
The Pollock palimpsest the weather has made
Of the walls, or we could run for the open
Field, when the lightning strikes--Here.
They say to lie flat. I'll cover you.
4 comments:
I desire Iris's halo of iridescence surrounding soft, waning Selene this fair, frosty Saturnal day.
My, we're on a tear, aren't we? If there has to be a gathering storm I'm glad to take my shelter in you and your verse.
Man, I love the power and force of this. It's like a two-minute Ramones song, a rock thrown through a window.
...more like Parliament/ Funkadelic......
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