Edward Hotspur


The unbearable drumming of the raindrops
Tapping out complex rhythms on my skin
Monsoon, a swarm, gaining by degrees
Side to side, there is no protection now
From the angry black hive
The wind blows right through my rain-soaked countenance
Like staring down the barrel of nature’s gun
Gravity and wind firing bullets of water
Going right through my clothes without leaving a hole
Each stinging me once, and then dying

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