Nary a storm cloud, though I do feel quite shitty.
It’s never the weather that turns me this way,
though cold and damp conditions certainly help.
The thought of a feather scraping through the air
in a constant updraft–dropped by a vulture
as it circled around suspected prey–calms me,
tells me the world has its order, its reason to live,
and if I can’t accept that, I’m buzzard bait.
WHARVED 