Weather Not Permitting


The air is marbled with smoke

The cremation of us all into clouds

Us all raining down on our own parades

By whatever means necessary


Becoming what I’m scared of

Being scared of what I am

Not being scared to be scared

Terrifically terrified, always, of course


Dying is the point of the living is it not?

Where is your elsewhere?

I got lost on my way there

And found myself with yourself in the lines of this poem


Published at Terror House Magazine