Bio Note: It seems I have a disease called IO, Idea Overload. I have so many things to write about, projects of all kinds, that often I find it difficult to get started on any of them. When that happens, I take a poetry book from my shelves (probably 300+) and read aloud what the poet is offering to me at that moment. It almost always works, acting as a jumpstart for the day's work.
I sleep with tornadoes, their slender tails wound around my ankles like Velcro. They tug on my legs, pull me out of bed, tell me that the basement is a joke, useless like empty coffins. Always wear your shoes to bed when the weather person stays up late, hugging the podium like a preacher. The colors on the TV look like Christmas, or spilled blood in the forest. The basement is cold like a morgue. I need a light jacket to keep my soul close to my body when the roof pops off.
©2022 John Dorroh
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