Bluster

The sky suggests

the coming storm,

the humming sigh.

The fever warms

and blistered clouds

are soon reborn 

by the loud whispers

of believers. 

Down the gully,

water runs and drowns

the fully muddled sun.

The mottled lizard

tries to run.  The coming

flood consumes him.

The snipe, the snake

the skink, the skunk

all float away,

corpses and junk,

wiped out by God

who thinks he makes

and thus must rectify

mistakes.  Infection

stinks like sin once stunk.

The flash of lightning

lashes trees.

With frightening shadows,

enemies--who know

your fears--scream

in your dreams.  Mere

ash is more

than what it seems,

the memory of smoke.

And if I manage

to survive til morning

torn can break

the sky, then still alive

the earth will dry,

as will I. Waking is

a lot like birth

or conquest.  I will take 

a new land,

a still-born country.