THE OPEN MIC CYPHER

[Siu Mi]

Accu-weather forecasts trickle the news down into this funnel of a blues town where if two mounds of dust spiral into a blue cloud we all figure we lose cows and sheep and maybe a few miles of land where no man would dare claim a lose screw now and it's a shame. What do we do in the rain with no roof, provisions or proof we remain when the storming devils kill us and our kids and cooly detain our souls in the madness while we wither, decay with debris hovering in the eye quietly as it plays with our dna's tapestry like a game. It hurts to say the least... In fact, in this case it hurts to be sane and Asian in a rural community where the elders get slain in a series of mindless acts in a sweep where all are speechless and prey. Preach less and pray for what nightmares may come in the far reaches of day, where as, if the feast is at nightfall and the screeches escape, at least you'll die in your sleep for a change.