They say disasters come in threes
But it seems they are coming in torrents,
Terrible and frightening dispersed with sad and uncomfortable.
Puddles reflect things you can’t understand
Clouds heavy with apprehension
My heart aches, my head throbs, my legs feel like logs
Dragged from the fire still smoldering.
Gloomy dreams followed by shrill alarm clocks
Intolerable restrictions on a freedom I don’t know if I want
And every conversation turns round and round
The cold grey core of a cyclone that keeps bringing rain.