The October rains
have a spice of uncertainty to them.
Surface out like Genesis flood
and ebb away like the value of stock
on a shady index.
By the hand of ***(Merciful God)
the banyan tree
which sheltered
many starlight romances
and flamy reflections
fell.
The baseball cap sailed
away with the winds
like some 19th century socialist
leaving many bareheaded
with tomato faces and wheat cheeks.
Such were the sins of this storm
with Dracula morality
and pumpkin virtues.
it’s not held accountable
not even when it ate
my pixel-jammed kindle
not even when it chewed up
bamboo pillow.
But my frail felonies
are always on the tab.
— Drunken Umbrella.
Thy Vox 
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