Logjammed

  CATHOLIC SCHISM

  Victorious gusts, triumphant tornado

  Rewarding winds, reward me, then

  My empty pockets beg, much to Martin Luther dismay

  In light of this, please consider my wants

  My drooping petals, ripped by nor’easter gales

  And I thought it was a breath of fresh air

  Thought it’d bring a storm

  And lightning bolts, like what Martin Luther saw

  Instead, only rumbles, not even a quake

  And even that was

  Gear-shifts on the bypass

  So I twiddle my thumbs in the basement

  Waiting for a twister that’s never coming