Bullshit

the gusts of wind
start up,
shoot in,
sounding like
a marching army.

outside,
in the danger,
leaves let me down.
I went outside to taste the weather.
the twigs told the story.

I walked to the river,
and walked back,
waiting for rain,
or to witness a cow flying by,
mooing.
I only saw some midnight robin birds
milling about like hollow-boned criminals.

inside,
laid,
out of the blue,
the microwave gives one,
long beep.
I unplug it.
It beeps again,
this time longer.
I proceed to walk five blocks to the river,
with the microwave in hand, still beeping at random,
in this bullshit storm.

everything moves,
everything pulses,
everything lies in the eyes of the eves of you.
I chuck the microwave into the river,
and count conspiracies on both hands.
The rain starts and the army of wind marches around the corner.