Hurricane Junky
by Odin Roark

Swirlin’ up a storm of black and white letters,
words come unzippin’
stanzas get a whippin’
pages you’re aflippin’
slamin’
bangin’
jammin’ ‘gainst the wall,
‘cause life’s a storm
he’s made into a form.

He knows it can be frightenin’
makin’ thunder wait for lightnin’
takin’ calm’s allusion
way past delusion
over and round illusion,
‘cause that’s how it is
if you’re a hurricane junky.

He’s from the womb of all wombs,
where gusts of screamin’ looms,
while white coats of disguise
watch mother pushin’ forth the prize,
never a calm birth here,
more a storm washin’ pain from fear.

So listen’ up wide, wide, world,
hurricane junky’s about to unfurl.

Early on the steady mist
of Dick and Jane got hurricane pissed,
sought out Catcher in the Rye,
a vociferous try,
then War and Peace did stress
a downpour-preamble to Infinite Jest.

So if you’re caught in the wake of his flurry,
heart bangin’ scared with gale-like fury,
hold firm,
think loose,
think Zeus,
dream open.

‘Cause never, no never,
will his tempest retreat forever,
‘cause his words are mere stages,
for more rippin’ slammin’ pages.

And maybe, just maybe,
if you hang real tight,
you’ll get to know his purity of white
is but black counter-spinnin’ fright,
workin’ together another co-write.

Yeah…

Better believe it…

He’s a hurricane junky.