A Minor Weather Warning

harnessed in his walking bag of bodily danger
is a little tornado— a duster— a whirlwind
"what did I say?"— a whirlwind always struggling
to focus his eye— a private storm hidden beneath
his pin-cushioned mind imploding within his laugh-cry
the same sentence he’s reading— the same
sentence he’s reading— over and—
"what did you say? I was— say it again
I was— I was— what did I say?"
perhaps he should scream
scatter dogs bricks muscles
taking with him a couple of
small towns in Texas
there will be a warning
in effect until 2:00 a.m.
find a place for cover
lie in a ravine
taste the earth
reminiscent of
reminiscence
passers by
recognize
him by
the way
his hair
spins
on the
back
of his
head