A City In Thunder Poem by Frank Hill

Daughter buried in a arm-fold,
Half limp karma, licking at her hand,
Red polka-dot head light…and,
Something frightening, found in the sand,

Fairy tales have laid waste,
In my dormant to rehearse,
When after everything you realize,
That they were written in reverse:

“And sleeping beauty never wakes up…

Or maybe it was in the strange,

That she never could finish anything,

…as soon as it had began.”

I never bathed her in the cripple color!
Still, she hopes that I’ll never be saved,
With all those survivors of the city in thunder,
Who started to cut on the Moses wave,

…As I lie buried to wait for the rain,
A city in thunder confronted within.