Thunder-Noise of the Gypsy Poetess
Onward to Rain

Stormy Skies




Please don't leave me-
Not here-Not now-
Not ever this alone.
I am empty but for you.


The zenith of my craving
Is the apex of your hate.
I am a human engraver-
Etching need into your soul.
Working on a eulogy
Since I planned death
When I was three.


I can almost feel the thunder-
It clouds through all this pain.
I wish I cared a little more-
Perceptive enough to know
I'm insane. Such a perfect
Breath of rain.


This city is a desert where
the wicked-hearted bloom.
But there is no room for a
gentle soul in processed
hair and cheap perfume.


I can almost get the healing
from the plasma-coated
synergy. I sense I almost have
a feeling-but don't quite have
the energy.


There isn't much that I can do-
Life spent running from myself.
It's not this way for other people-
Solitary suffering.


I almost have a rhythm from
Life's tantric radio-
It makes me want to get out
Of here-but there's nowhere
Left to go.


My brain has acid reflux
As it surges up the present-
No sleep here for the frantic-
I write the law against myself
To earn my own exile. I
Found my way back to a beating
To prove that I had found
My smile.


I almost caught a cancer,
But now I'm feeling fine.
I thought I found a vocal
Chord, but it just turned out
benign.


I had the laying on of preaching,
When all I need is a giving hand.
I try to share my opalescence,
But none of them can understand.


I almost listened to her-
I let her use her voice-
But I had to let my mind continue-
I didn?t have a choice.

24 June 2002


My voice is fright in the hearts of men when it crackles and burns in their atmosphere. I am too loud for them to hear. This surge of understanding that is pent inside my brain...deafens god's good creatures when the stormclouds have to rain. Cumulous puffs of joy collide with thin stratus slashes of agony to create the boisterous rolling crash of opinion pouring out of me.


This is where things start to get ugly. This is who I am. I don't want to be here, but I want to be where my soul is. He is at home, wishing he could be with me.


Enter the angry widow.


This was not my intention.

Learn more about Thunder & Lightning

Sometimes I am too big to fit the earth and my feet spin off to other orbits.


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