Wet violent rain and thunderbolts from on high

old glass panes sway like the devil’s bowtie

dark colored cars and yellow head lights

dart the country lanes amid heartless socialites

child like dreams light up and fire the worst of the worst

unknowingly the victim of the latest cloudburst

Hershey Bars of clouds move close the ground

spreading chaos and winged devils with sound

nights like this embed the memory leaving a scar

old tales tell of a flying minotaur

on stormy nights all evils are blamed

murders and kidnappings and the criminally insane

morning comes slowly with a hobo hangover

but the sunny skies come and try to smooth all of it over

the end

“I don’t deal in reality, I’m a poet” Lawrence Ferlinghetti