15 – The Mayor’s Song: Ferris Wheel

Each day
another great wheel
raises me up until the lights shine
beneath me like stars reflected in Lake Ontario.
Lowers me into unimaginable depths
of misery and pity,
whose smoke and confusion
brings tears to my eyes.
Must I witness all that is good,
all that is wild and savage?
I continue to rise
and fall until I rise again,
as if I were master,
not slave. As if I
could control the passion,
the need to demonstrate
the best that never can be;
the truth about what lies beneath
the stable of the beast.

16 – Weather woman’s song of love denied

In the gust of the wind before the thunderstorm
how does the bird land on the wire?
A billion billion water molecules in a snowflake
how do they find each other, make that flake unique?
I can trace a flare of energy from the sun
across an incredible distance of void,
tell you about the heat and light tomorrow,
whether the weather is cold or hot,
trace the highs and lows expressed by heavy cloud,
but how do I make it rain in someone’s heart?
How is someone’s static charge attracted to me
so the lightning happens and they say “love,”
or do I just cast my sigh upon the breeze
that ruffles at a light twenty-two degrees
looking forward to a comfortable low of fifteen
easy sleeping weather for those with someone
between the knees.
And when dawn begins at six oh three
and the sun rises in a clear blue sky and a glorious high
of twenty eight, will it smile for me? Will those clouds
threatening to dampen the weekend fun, break for a moment
and shine a special ray to point out someone who will say,
“My almanac’s full of years and years of forecasts
so I’ll make a prediction that will last forever– I’ve already fallen
in love with you.”  Is it too much to ask – or is it
always stormy weather, global warming with no passion?

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