a vacuous gunmetal dervish spins
column of swirled perdition
howls like Bedlam let
loose foundations
yanked uprooted–
–stare deep in
its eyeless
last face,
hypnotic
swirls
the

streamers of graphite sky curl down
like monstrous wiry arms
war of the world
deceptive in
appearance
weak;

insanely steady its fickle
course, this berserker balls
voracious with revolving
maw inhales...

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Oh, Good Lord, y’all, I thank we better git in the house. That sky is darker than Brother Jimmy’s sermon last Sunday, and it’s flashing like a God-damned disco. It’s gonna be a gully washer, all right, but Ronnie’s got the big truck if we git in any trouble, and we can surely trust Jesus will be with us. The last time we had a toad strangler like this, a big ol’ twister turned Alma’s roof inta too...

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