Sunday, May 31, 2015
Image
Indians said never
a tornado where two
rivers meet. There,
after the roar, my
fingers prove shredded,
after coiling through
a chain-link fence.
Dare gaze up to a green
broil of sky to see how
a nude woman hangs
from a black rag-
ged tree by her long,
so-bright hair.
I won’t ever forget it!
Nor, now, will you.Labels: death, hanging woman, Indian, tornado, Woman
Sunday, September 30, 2012
Oklahoma
William Z Winsom certainly never before put
groceries away naked.
But his clothes had been soaked from dragging bags upstairs through very
nearly solid heat. A sort of ticking came
from outside, leading, he hoped, to the promised thunder shower.
He discounted the perfunctory tornado warning, one a day for the preceding week.
Droplets whipped across his neck when he placed Special K atop the frig. As he
meditated on their appearance indoors, turning to the windows to check, the front
of the apartment ripped off with a roar, exposing him to the Billy Benloes, dragging
Grandpa, drunk, to a shelter.
"Always knew YOU was some kinda
pre-vert!" he cackled, black debris
circling the luminous group.
William Z Winsom certainly never before put
groceries away naked.
But his clothes had been soaked from dragging bags upstairs through very
nearly solid heat. A sort of ticking came
from outside, leading, he hoped, to the promised thunder shower.
He discounted the perfunctory tornado warning, one a day for the preceding week.
Droplets whipped across his neck when he placed Special K atop the frig. As he
meditated on their appearance indoors, turning to the windows to check, the front
of the apartment ripped off with a roar, exposing him to the Billy Benloes, dragging
Grandpa, drunk, to a shelter.
"Always knew YOU was some kinda
pre-vert!" he cackled, black debris
circling the luminous group.
