Vicious Vicious

How we bend
and bow
and scrape,

trees in the wind,
lashing limbs
ready to claw open the sky

and let it bleed rain
let it run down,
let it soak us in the numbing cold.

How we furiously shriek when offended,
when turned in the storm
and left to quiver.

How we wail.
How we weep.
What happens

when the fight between us
and the weather has blown out?
What vicious thing will next find its wind?

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About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
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