When the weather moves inside, the body
Cares less and less for the general situation.
A tempest in a teacup matters more
To the teacup than a tempest outside the door.
Tasseomancy fails when the leaves won’t stop
Swirling, so even within the future-obsessed
Beast that calls itself human, the future vanishes
Into the tempest’s murky whirl. Consider
All the ways you’ve thought you wanted to live
And all the ways it might be not so bad to die.
Once the storm’s inside you, you accept you
Won’t be one of those who gets to decide.
The rain clogs all your drains and gutters
And suddenly you care no more than a cliff
How soon or how hard you begin your slide.
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