the tornado looks at me and grimaces.
lights in the sky. rain pelts on my skin
like on a roof. there are no
reasons to stay outside any more. no
memories of sunlight to keep me warm.
no dryness anywhere other than under me.
inside the furnace of my own body
i burn the fuel from earlier. dry wood.
the tornado grimaces not because of
what it sees in me but what it doesn't.