The storm is upon us.
The tower of Babel is plummeting down.
Each crack in the sidewalk hears thunder through silence.
Insomnia’s eyelids are opened like coffins.
I’m sipping my coffee.
The winds off the rooftops resound like organs.
This orchestra’s rage sweeps the notes off the page.
I’m scared and I’m silent.
I’m biting my nails --
My body turns pale up on the cross.
My blood slowly fills the potholes of Harlem:
I’m hungry, forgotten, dejected and lost...