Save our souls, those of us lashed windward.
I’ve tempted the Coriolis of your anger —
Unleashing Cyclones and whirlwinds,
Glass popping, timbers snapping,
The wanton release of wildfire:
The underwhirl of a dark planet —
The spin of its mass
And specific gravity
Pulling waves and wind
Into furious alignment.
The aftermath
As impossible to calculate
As the beforemath.
The weight of all the ash
Drifting underfoot, the last snuffling sparks.
qbit 