Anvil Shaped

by Steven J. Serafiani

Storm clouds rolled their husks lined
with luminosity; hey, I’m fragile in
my race car down here! I don’t need
you droppin your dew on my feathers in
my beak plunge parfait. Swirl UP
tropopause, swirl evenly and in
concert you who came
from the west, hurriedly- that
megalomaniac. Shuttering skin into
drywall; dragging out chair
covers in humid gust
surprise. Opposing forces created
you. Be

supreme and I’ll peek and I’ll envy you
as I

count seconds: that is how many miles you
are from BANG!