Typhoon in Three Acts

Typhoon in Three Acts

After

Just once I want to be chosen 
by the weather,
to have my world thrown 
to the wind,
to know the stench of sleep 
in a schoolhouse
somewhere in the white noise.

Here there's only phoned excuses
and slightly messy pavements.



During

What are you looking for
under all these houses
and all these trees
in all these lives?

All you'll find is death
and you
already have his address.



Before

Air fizzes,
taut enough to strum. 

                    Smells arrive first,
amphibian and somehow nostalgic,

rain being the same in tropical climes
as it is on speckled moors.

                    Strongest winds
for over a decade, they inform us—

they, who deal out weather like tarot cards;
us, who await The Hanged Man.







~