The moment demands it.
A sky blanched of love for the earth becomes a nondescript mass of molten, soggy cloud.
The wind tears up from nowhere,
The heat of the day gone, at last,
Lost now in the alchemical boil;
The toil of elements has come thus.
In yonder distance lights from the greyhound track elicit a greenish hue from the diffused mass it screams into,
In other parts of the sky, a purplish bruise soaks in to the cloud-flesh
Inflamed by the continual pressure of our city's ethereal glow.
Rain begins to slant whilst violent flashes of light lick lavishly,
Unseen by us from our balcony,
And punctuated by the irrepressible growl of the storm's thunderous belly.
Now, it is here and hungry.
The wind fucking blows man - it comes at us, full force.
The rain smacks, it hits like a drunken brawler, throwing itself at us with no desire but to
Smash, and enslave.
WE SCREAM INTO IT
WE ARE ONE WITH IT
The storm screams back.
We are recognized,
We are known.