Who will hear the quick probing
at the axis, intersection of existence
cross grooves drawn deep
with the poet’s scalpel, to open
and separate, to explore
our affective state, to penetrate
cut and divide, set aside in lines of ink
as lightning strikes slash the grove
and thunder shakes the darkest burdens
of cloud, to rumble against the zinc?
Jan G. Otterstrom F. 11/15/2012
Somewhere over the Atlantic.