The Creator's Morning

Thread lightning through needle, take
sky into My lap for a morning of sewing.
Hard making storms -- careful! Don't
overfill: clouds rip very easily. A bit
more thunder and rain and -- t h e r e.
Perfect. Now to align their dark edges
to fit against the striations of purple
and green: will be pretty once I get it
done. And then I'll stretch it across
the Heavens and watch the Humans
freak: except for a select few, they
don't know how much work I put into
this. They wouldn't know beauty if it
came, slapped them upside the head ...

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman

Don't Have To Chase ...

"Don't Have To Chase ..."

... storms chase me, following me into
my own backyard, searching for the
entryway to the cellar of my fear,
hidden deep within. Telling them to
go away does no good: they'll laugh
in your face with moisture-laden
breath and continue to beat at the
door. I stand on the other side,
pushing against the forces wanting
in. They are stronger; feet slipping;
can't hold on much longer. Eyes snap
open like shutters to greet the ... sun?

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman

Belly of the Beast

... get an eyeful as it hovers
over me, growling low in its
throat. Want to escape, but
legs won't work: paralyzed
by fear. Feel its teeth now,
smell its foetid breath (hint
of ozone). One chomp! and
swallow later, all is dark as
I enter the belly of the beast:
not the way I wanted to die.

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman

HAAWWWTTTT!

Pavement and I are one,
melted together in
a miasma of heat.

Sweat running down my face
liquifies the asphalt
so it sticks to my feet ---

hot out there. Cannot wait
for Autumn; will be the
first one out there to greet

its arrival. Until
then, I get to know part
of South West Thomas Street ...

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman

Why'd She Come In Here, Looking Like That?

Churning her hips in the darkness,
no one can see her dangerous dance
over the waters. She peels out of
her clouds and throws them into the
wind. Who cares if it's raining ---
she adores the feel of wet on her
skin. Dolly opens her eye and laughs:
she wants nothing more than to press
man against her voluptuous bosom ...
one last memory before they die.

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman

On The Inside, Screaming Out

It gets into you, the storm
raging outdoors: the high
sc.raping of the wind shoving
furniture and things around
upstairs, the hail-laced rain
sounding like buckshot on
the walls of courage suddenly
gone sour and on the floors
of the heart. Storm parks in
the handicapped zone (because
that is what you have become,
paralyzed, pull-the-cloth-out-
from-under played with your spine),
engine idling, thrumming so loud
God can't hear your cries for
mercy: no more! No more!! And
then, the sun, the awakening to
discover this was only a dream?!??

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman

Dud

The big letdown wasn't sex
or fireworks. It was words:
mine.
The Muse not at fault. She
lit a fire under me and I put
them
down faithfully, as quick as
I could, backed off to a safe
distance,
and waited for the show to
start: and there it fizzled--
died.
Damnit. Another dud ... it
figures I'd write the rotten
one
in the group. So what do I
do now? Try once more or
quit?

(c) 2008, Karla Dorman (7/5)