This week feels like walking encased

in cobwebs, shuddering and sputtering 

without making any difference

except to make things worse.

.

“Why is everything a battle?” he cried

to the music in the background 

as he drove everywhere too fast. 

.

There are no answers, only signs

meaning everything and nothing depending 

how literate you are with the heart. 

.

The sign said to go forward a day at a time 

which feels like trying to count sand in 

an hourglass then releasing it on the beach. 

.

In a world of todays, it’s hard to see

destinations when roads twist and jar,

making what’s ahead look like a wilderness.

.

“There’s always time,” she told me 

but I knew better. We don’t always have a tomorrow. 

Just on the other side of the window,

March winds are banging the hell out

of my house and trees and utilities. 

.

It’s dark so I can only imagine the mayhem.

Usually, I wake to just some fallen branches.

.

They say weather is getting worse,

more severe, just like politics and children

running rampant without any filter. 

Each generation wants to be the one 

that survives the worst but we’re all  just 

spiraling as far from Eden as possible-

just with new vernacular. 

.

The sky is roaring now, deep in the night

and I think of summer storms

and the relief of the after. I can’t imagine 

the warmth or the green right now,

but I know it’s coming again.