This appeared in The Poetry Bus.
Iffy, but rain more likely than disaster
Tonight. Disaster later in the week.
Volcanoes on the cities of the plain,
A flood and instability to follow
Cold, like the primal disengaging wind
Across the surface of unlighted skies,
Empty and without hope of being filled,
Expected, as is promised every year,
Delivered rarely. Make your reservations.
Eat first. Say ‘bye. Dress for adversity.
The cormorants are coming. They bring news
From Iowa: new prairies have been found
Studded with galleons, like golden nails
On inky beds. Wind freshening, the east
Surprised by dolphins. Three old men walked out
Of an abandoned mine in Agate, late
Last Tuesday morning, asking for a beer
And word of Good Queen Bess, fetters around
Their ankles. More on this if there is more.
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