Poem 2: Pour

My mouth whispers a stream of consciousness into a paper bag

and I take two breaths:

One shallow

One deep

and the prolonged exhale creates a twister

whose force spins the thoughts at a rate

my hands cannot capture.

The bag bursts from the unrelenting

gusts

Those quiet thoughts 

amplify as they

shoot into the atmosphere

like cannon fire

and all I can do is watch the 

unintentional fireworks

put on a good show

for an audience unaware

of the spectacle

that pours down 

like a sudden summer rain

upon their unsuspecting heads