It can’t be mystical,
transformative or comical
if it isn’t first and foremost
a metaphysical mashup.
For example, last night
lightning swished across
the coal sky’s entire width
and lit the lofty horizon with
a jolt of instant luminescence.
How could I possibly predict
thunderstorms clocking in,
poised to pelt my coastal city
that slick summer night?
Then what was astounding,
thunder like an A-bomb
exploded about a mile
beyond the beach, just
slightly above the ocean.
That thunder shocked me.
It tugged the giddy lion’s
mane, lion that hugged
dolphin fins protruding
the water’s surface like
convulsive periscopes
that spied on me as though
they had the right to stalk
with pinpoint cosmic vision
my loves and silly dreams.
Indian Review | Author | Thomas Piekarski is a former editor of the California State Poetry Quarterly. His poetry and interviews have appeared in Nimrod, Portland Review, Kestrel, Cream City Review, Poetry Salzburg, Boston Poetry Magazine, Gertrude, The Bacon Review, and many others. He has published a travel guide, Best Choices In Northern California, and Time Lines, a book of poems.
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