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 mono-academic drought.
Brown patches emerge with dulled loss of inspiration
of what might have been a family
an ecological home
a contenting pasture for aging bones,
hinky synapses flaring thorny tornadoes
of over-heating defeat.

Boxes realign themselves
incomprehensibly hiding any heathy value
in their move
from what could have been here
if not left there
where fading memories survive
my loss of regenerate presence.

Bags batter
bursting malignant neglect.
Chairs no longer fit
for seating hot self-abusive tempers
of displaced despair, dismay, dissonance.
Dust defecates deafening destiny.

A house that should be homeless
grows incipiently grateful for our habitual care;
downsizes redemptive purgation
into shrinking simplicity of violence
to invisible,
yet screaming silent strangling sensory strings
still slipping
sparkling vents glaring
glacially through stagnant July.

Then,
early August morning spills thick black.
Tall elder treetops sway above,
straining radical rooting systems below
with hope yet fear of cathartic free-flight wildness,
drama of release from double-bondage ambivalence
from petulant
radiant
hot diastolic July.

Lightning rolls in thunderous waving walls
competing back against falling drops of grace.
Transition storms through purging soul
stuck in discontenting worthless purgatory
in space without place
house without home
quasi-faith without hope
place with cavernous time
yin mindful without yang passion.

Earth and Sky roar co-arising dark wet flashy passion.
Wild yeast superlatively shredding domesticated designing culture’s skin,
bleaching dark co-passions through dry-cracked exegeting crevices.

“Abatement is not removal!”
Political abatement is not ecological removal
wild Wicked cackles demented co-investing delight.
“If great transitions were regenetic
then messianic nomads would rule our universalities,
pilgrims would landscape Promised Land RealTime Estates
with co-arising eco-karmic bilateral nutritious confidence.”

The storm abates,
drought removed.
Thunder claps and sighs farewell.
Brief time
now
to soar as evening’s rainbow
before fair decomposing haze horizon
rolls over light’s last disarraying gasp.
As night promises peace,
Thunder cracks and shakes one last remembering.
Yin’s serenity is not always Yang’s sanity.

Promise smiles integral syncopathic teardrops
on this hot tin roof.