Connor Webb

Plowing over tornado alley
Like a huge, swirling lawnmower
Uprooting everything
In my path.
I form in a thunderstorm
I die when I
Can spin no more.
My eye is gentle
The rest is a nightmare
Of spinning dust.
I slow down
As I start to die
Slower,
Slower,
I’m now wind
Slower,
Slower,
I’m a gentle breeze.
Slower,
Slower
I die into the air. 

 


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