Thunder Clouds

I’m full of

spit(e)

like thunder clouds

and I chew more
bark than I should.

Tough and coarse;

my retina’s drip

crimson thoughts

through

fading dawn

and

static spaces.

White lines;

as sharp as

a

finger.

nail.

tap.

The world
could end

but

an empty glass

save melted

ice

leaves

not enough
water to

drown in.