Fury

Poetry
          Fury.
    She is fury.
Fury like the waves
    Of the Michigan Lake
         On a stormy day.

She sees them.

       Sitting on a window’s ledge
            Atop a high rise, she is
                       Hanging
                     H a n g i n g

Letting the wind feel her
                    And free her
As she lets the smoke rise
Out of her lips and let it kiss
                   The Sky
               With Passion.

She sends her whispers into the galaxy
Where the darkest purple clouds live
                           And black waves
                      Crash
                       And
                      Shake

                     No - it is not a dream.
               It is a very real scene.
A memory of her youth; so pristine.