The Cyclone

I grab at the railing, my only last hope.  My legs flail behind me, stretched into the gale.

One at a time the screws tear through plaster.  At last my heart races as I plunge into the storm.

One frame of that movie slips into my mind, the one with the dog and the yellow brick road.

Then reality hits and I know I may die.

The air is too dark for my vision to see the world past the cyclone, and the dust stings my eyes.

At last after kicking and flailing (for show), my body goes limp when I’m knocked cold by a brick.

At this point I woke, (of course it’s a dream).  I get a quick drink and I go back to sleep.

This time it’s a maelstrom, and I’m on the outskirts. I swim away from the ominous center.

Yet after a while, I’m tired and coughing, I can no longer tell if I’m going the right way.

I tread water and feel for the vortex to guide me.  How easy it’d be to simply give up.

When the shark bumps against me I force myself up.

I lay for a minute, sweating, heart racing.  I have never felt love for this bed until now.

I shakily stand, ‘cause I know I can’t sleep.  I feel so alive and awake and intense.

The storm outside calms me, and I know that I’m safe. ‘Till it rips off the roof and I grab for the railing.