Storm Through Glass
a dizzy inertia of rain
accosts the window with its inkless blips.
a rorschach patina-menagerie.
what glossy thudding heads.
they shriek silent, but not quiet.
it's the gales
who thrash and paint all the nonsense splatter:
the trickle-twisted horns, whisked whiskers,
and storm-coopered hooves.
a mutable zoo, far too grotesque;
for if these ideas resolved full,
my nightmares would mar
the tempestuous pane.
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