What the Wind Says Before Bed

I’m not as superstitious 

as you might think.

I pass through the turnstiles

everyday without fanfare,

I ration my pleasures

so as not to contaminate

the grey clouds heading

your way.  My locomotives

prowl across the plains

in search of you.  Do you

flinch when you feel

my hot breath on your neck?

I’m never crooked.  I

adjust my motives to my

howling moods.  My motto:

Make me whistle. My lullaby:

Rest your head in my maelstrom.

(First appeared in december: 26.1)