Unleash the Storm

Just another little sh*tty second draft poem for you, somewhat in the same vein as yesterday's but a little more manic.  For good reason, I think. 



This poem woke me up


at 4:30 in early morning dark,
early morning befuddlement manifesting in mixed metaphors,
the lightstreaks of dreams and blood pressure
on my eyelids’ insides
and the rumble of Monday morning trashcan wheels
to the curb
transforming into a lightningthunder talking picture show.

Flatter, fainter sounds and light
grow sharper louder quicker,
shorter intervals between
till light and sound are barely a boombeat apart,
briefly heartstopping
despite my fascination and attention.

The cat, wide-eyed, leaps off the warm bed
for sanctuary in a darker windowless place.

Drumbeats on the skin-thin tabletop of the sky,
like bad manners at dinner.
Bottle lid removed, opened skies are tipped,
poured on our roof,
spiced with ice
that smatters on window panes,
like salt skittering off the plate and onto the table.

After the drenching, a sudden stop,
water and steam sheeting, dripping,
like opening the dishwasher mid-cycle
to add an errant spoon.

The storm takes its clouds
and goes home,
leaving a bright supermoonglowball behind
for us to play with like gleeful accidental thieves.

Welcome, spring.
Welcome, lord of spring.
You have my full attention.