Wednesday, November 21, 2012

After the storm

When the lines fell during the storm
There was still hope
The cold wind blowing rain over the roof
Like fingers prying into our lives
Tapping at the windows
Doors and cracks of floor
Seeking to steal fire back for the gods
Huddled up into the corners, poor
Impoverish Prometheus waiting for the claws
Stepping from house the morning after
To dangling power lines
the swaying carcasses
of fallen witches from Kansas

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