Storm Season
Christopher Kuhl
The sky slams down. Cattle
Are stuck in the dark,
Days spent in rain-ravaged fields,
Woodsmoke
Tanging the air while the universe
Swings drunkenly around
The tail end of the galaxy,
Making our blood
Rise, metallic in our mouths.
We are plastered to this sweating earth by
Blind gravity threatening holocaust
Of our farms and lives. Pray
For the river to keep
To its banks, neither man nor beast
Trapped in mud,
Drowning.
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