Patrick Johnsonbefore a storm
in the weight of summer
the winds would roll in
leaves showing
white bellies
like some beast
submitting
I'd peddle hard
pretend that
a force of nature
could match my speed
thinking that if I could
outrun the yellow
violent swollen
clouds
there wasn't
a goddamn thing
that would ever
touch me again
I stood outside in at the corner of my house where my favorite tree bows heavy with thick green while two birds fought behind me two slashes of white and blue while the clouds hung heavy in the sky pr
there are two ways to go about this first be quiet and let it sit deep on the inside while you stay passive so it forms a cancer in your throat that ruins all that is good or second take what it is sh
it's all held together by the golden ratio holy shapes the bees know this mundane thing becomes more than gods or purpose it becomes a miracle every waking moment constantly moving with an invisible d