The brustling of the tall grass swaying on the prairie;
the humming of solar winds lighting up the northern sky,
their whispered rush down the heavens;
the drumming of thunder gathering in the foothills,
its long stampede to a sudden sharp and shaking crash;
the scattering of raindrops tapping on the ground,
converging to a torrent slapping down;
the rustling of wind-blown cottonwood and poplar,
News of another lover
of unspecified gender
(a generational glitch
in the ecclectic dreams
of ageless cappuccino debutantes
and aromatic swashbucklers)
and barely hidden terms
of infatuous agreements,
under the guise
of open-mindedness,
are dealt out over a table
in a double-handed trist,
while nutmeg and cinnamon,
nestled together
in frothy delight,
conceal incantations
wafted into fetid air
of diametric oppositions,
and social commentary
acquires a neon glow,
reflected in panes
of hard-boiled silicon,
marking the outer limit
against the primitive fringe:
