decline its touting, booming message, we
unravel rain in clouds above us, we
await its repetition—finally
it cracks in undertow as tigers roar
in jungles brazed in tropic suns; where mist
and noises rise, while here the tempest falls
upon us. clocks along the walls are stuck
as ten:eleven; thunder knows no time;
it only knows its rhythms, meters, lines
that crouch beneath the jungle bushes; lines
that blend into the deepness, waiting; lines
that slice the jungle trees and break the sky:
as tigers' roars and thunder's desperate cry.
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