Night in the Watchungs

I wake up chilled. The icy
rain might as well be birdshot
thrown in fistfuls at the glass

and vinyl. Thunder kicks
its sheets across suburban
roofs in summer darkness,

over mountains, where
the blood red digits burn
at static 2:16.

A silent flash of lightning
detonates the bedroom
dust, a line of light,

a one-shot fire that burns
on something silver just
behind my creaking eyes.

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