Open Flood Gates
For someone that avoids the forecasts
you’ve got the weather on your lips too much
But I can’t be trusted to judge
after I mistook the fault line of your mouth for a canyon
lush with growth
emitting sunshine allowing light showers
from the high clouds to
form a river that flowed outward to hydrate me
until it evolved into a flash flood
it was only when I had water in my eyes
when I saw you as a hydra
wetting the roads for me to hydroplane
losing control clouding my forecasts with
nimbo-stratus madness
that bloomed like a mushroom cloud
It was the Earthquake that set me over the edge
and prompted me to smash my teleprompter
and stick a wet finger to the wind
leading me past the green screen horizons
allowing me to finally forecast:
Your fascination with finer things will result in forest fire
The clouds floating next to Italian leather
You will do nothing but wither behind your weather.
