An open field; home. Dark, squat, ominous stormclouds churn ten feet above the ground, gather air in folds. Atmosphere consumed and left vacuous; trees bend skyward and silently rend from the earth. Limbs dissolve into lifeless, swirling debris. Things that should not fly, do. Miles of the same. Silent chaos everywhere. Muted catastrophe. Some combination of tornado, fog and thunderhead; without lightning. The images _too_ sharp; altered; edited; planned; scripted; filmed. Wholly unnatural. Ever rolling. Ever consuming. Ever silent.

I observe; curious, confused, awestruck. They do not stop for me.

One comment

  • Have you ever heard God�s voice
    like suddenly being able to percieve
    the earth’s movement
    because you sense a benchmark in the universe
    someone ancient and young
    neither male or female but loving
    in a way that dwarfs even eros
    Of a substance that makes earth-matter
    seem more like vapor and emptiness and veil
    that would dissipate
    at one word from the Mouth.

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