Weather before a typhoon, so warm and
calm
Even though it is out of season
What could be wrong?
That white sailing object is not an egret;
A sense of security has some doubt.
Like a younger child learning from the elders,
Mistaken Taiwan rain will pour out,
Wetter than blue puddles in Hong Kong,
Stronger than the Bolivian rightist coup,
Colder than the sleet that coats Midwestern States.
The sun shines bright before a typhoon storms.
Rain lasts into the night when it is gone.
The white object, floating, is a Christ supreme
Full of contradictory swirling blowhards,
Dead to nourish crops resurrection
What a privileged life is
Drenched through and through, a twisted point
of view,
The coming typhoon will rip you from your
staunches,
Throw you up and cast you out
cleansing wind, and closure.
Your corporate power usurped,
Your stock markets crashed
Like Dorothy’s house on your capitalist witch falls.
So clear the sky before the typhoon storms.
So different when typhoon winds are spent.
The air so clean to see mountain’s majesty;
The throne of nature’s supremacy,
After God’s hand smacks your foolish faces
With hundred kilometer-per-hour debris,
Deader than an unfriended Facebook deletion.
November 21, 2019
Copyright © 2019 by David Barry Temple. All rights reserved
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