The winds not so pleasant

the mad winds are back
back mad and dry
back one evening
from a flooded coast
I slip in the midst of a desert
and they come here
they come here all mad
and find me with my head up
and my legs open
they grab me
by my hair
and on the iron railing
I imagine hitting my head
they come
the mad winds
and fill my gut with dirt
I find a light
a glow of light
it is not somebody’s home
it is a light fallen
out of a home
and onto a windy vacant street
and I look at it
as I keep getting punched
by the mad winds
that have found me.

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Published by grumpygorman

I am a Social Worker by day and an artist/writer by night. I use the written word in an attempt to make sense of the secret worlds and dysfunctional dynamics that lurk beneath the facades of our daily interactions. I am not sure how my writing styles are characterized, nor am I overly concerned about it. I am immensely enthusiastic about music and often connect better with songs than I do people. I also have an intense appreciation for quality wines and whiskies, frequently consuming them in excess. I like things that smell good and struggle to manage the symptoms of a life-long relationship with depression. So, why "grumpygorman"? Spend some time here and find out...

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