Windfall

The wind she comes

Without remorse...

The wind blows in, and

Shifts all course

Before we have a say if

Hairs

Should be flat or stick

High up there's...

The wind will sculpt us!...

This Mother Wind...

Her sweet abandon balks at

Whim...

I know so little, as she toys

With all my precious

Odd shaped joys

That someone else sees merely as

The scraps and snatches

Of static Jazz...

The wind she comes

From the meta verse...

Twisting the roads, and

Creation births...

Wild wind in fury indent my plates

And fuse a new erotic fate

Out of the fossils of lost love's

Who were destroyed by perverse gloves

Of some goosed psycho who's drink was

Spiked

By lack of love or

Other shite

That draws a stereo-

Type from dirt..

That wind whips vicious-

ly and flirts

With madness in his many forms...

The wind she comes, and

Throws up arms!...

The loose of heart hide seeds like darts,

But wind erodes each mythic stance,

Tips woven baskets

Right off staircase,

Upturning plastic...

Makes mates displaced,

Whilst also opening old sores

All happens without pause through gusts...

Flipping froze features, and cracking busts

Of manic preachers who tow the line,

Until they finally

So humbly take

The blame for pissing

In love's lake...

Bunny Villaire

6/3/23

Edit#3