The storm

From out of the storm
The angry clouds stir
Vents release
Explode
I watch the thunder
And wonder
What will be torn away?
What will be the same?
Twisting rotting limbs in the road
Empty buildings boarded up for the storm
Ripped open
Left behind to be studied by anthropologist and poets
I know what the poet would say
This is happens when the world spins and spins and spins
And someone yells
“Stop”

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