Today, a storm

Tripartite is how a storm convulses us from sleep

One, it annotates the walls of bed:

a slight powder of mist here,

a cologne of cold there.

The yakking feet mutter to

the mouths of head:

stay still, stay still.

Two, it anecdotes a weather report.

A chocolate milk coffee at bedside

A blooming hope for electricity

and blanket as your favorite tv show.

Sleep has the blood of storm.

Storm has none of the impurity of sleep.

There was an arrangement of the three parts

of how a storm convulses us from sleep:

a talking head,

a paralyzed prance,

staying still – and more:

a weather report we lick in bed,

electricity salvaging itself,

a necessary bond between

storm and sleep.

A fruitful melody screams in the head:

Stay still

Stay still