Big Weather by Jon Thompson

Low hum or high winds,
hard to say. Outsideness
looks cinematic, the world
putting on airs
with winter-stripped trees,
gospel-swaying back & forth
outside old-fashioned paned glass.
Winter-sharp branches
wave wildly, sough
a song not their own.
Wrens try out a call &
response in the
emptiness between
boughs then
wing away. What
is the weather?
It’s mainly a feeling,
a set of feelings, that
defines a day. A happening
that causes panic;
a happening instead of panic.
In the place of clouds,
an exilic grey mass is moving
eastward, pushing light out of the way.
There’s a travelling in the air,
an ideation & dispossession
that’s premonitory, a sense
of something coming, something
you have not agreed to. A quietness.
A waiting for catastrophe.
Or a waiting that does without it.


Date: 2014

By: Jon Thompson (19??- )

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