Oh so appealing, toothsome weather reports,

offering glossy maps & quick soundbites of devastation

(sandwiched by celeb sightings and cute pets)

hand out sugar-coated, screen tested guilt free passes,

reassure us that the Storm is far away, can’t touch us

and that help is already on the way for those poor, poor people

who will soon experience boundless relief.

But the Storm is missing an eye

there are no pockets of comfort here

no grateful smiles, can-do attitudes or silver linings.

It warps and howls, shreds and conquers

a screaming wheel of fortune

blank blades spinning out to clutch

alone, loved, wealthy, ancient, afraid, corrupt, hopeful souls

all whitewashed in the face of timeless fury

In the end, we’re all victims of the storm

it’s just easier to see an eye

when it’s not looking our way.

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