It started the 8th of June
moving away from too familiar
into too alien,
finding no sane oasis between.
Vibrant greens relentlessly fade
to wilting monochromatic drought.
Brown patches emerge with dulled loss
of what might have been a family
an ecological home
a pasture for aging bones,
hinky synapses flaring tornadoes
of heated defeat.
Boxes realign themselves
incomprehensibly hiding any value
in their move
from what could have been here
if not left there
where fading memories survive
my loss of presence.
bursting malignant neglect.
Chairs no longer fit
for seating hot tempers
of displaced despair.
Dust defecates destiny.
A house that should be home
to those grateful for its care;
downsizes redemptive purgation
into shrinking violence,
screaming silent strangling sensory strings
sparkling vents glaring
glacially through stagnant July.
early evening spills thick black.
Tall elder treetops sway
with hope of cathartic wildness,
drama of release
Lightning rolls in thunderous waving walls
and back again in falling grace drops.
through pilgrim soul’s discontented purgatory
in space without place
house without home
faith without hope
place with cavernous time,
mindful without passion.
Earth’s sky roars dark wet flashy passion.
Wild yeast superlatively shredding domesticated culture’s skin,
bleaching dark passions from dry-cracked crevices.
“Abatement is not removal!”
wild Wicked cackles demented delight.
“If transitions were regenetic
then nomads would rule,
pilgrims would land in paradise estates
with coincidental karmic confidence.”
The storm abates,
Thunder claps farewell.
search evening’s rainbow
before hazing horizon
rolls over light’s last gasp.
As night promises peace,
Thunder cracks and shakes one last reminder.
Serenity is not always sanity.
Promise smiles teardrops
on hot tin roofs.