Hurricane season.
Tornado country.
Chaos favors
times and places,
clearly. Teens
and twenties, fluid
dynamics, turbulent
flow through a pipe.
Butterfly wingbeats
whisper aloft
with innocent sorcery
polar vortices.
One summer day
you see a face
in a coffee shop
and chaos pulls
a fire alarm
deep inside you.
Neurotransmitters
spray from the ceiling
of your skull, drops
of happy napalm.
Solar storm,
election year,
first love, you know
the butterfly effect
by the butterflies
in your stomach effect.
Every eye
has a pupil in it,
a Jupiter storm,
a gestational sac
bulging with tumult.
The sinning lovers
in Dante’s hell
swirl together,
their spirits, storm winds
tangled forever.
It’s terrifying, isn’t it,
to be human. Each blink
of the eyes, the twitch
of a wing with eyespots,
changing the weather
for the rest of our lives.
Our rain dances no
more effective
than our reason.
Trapped in chaos
country during
chaos season.