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when a tree is struck by lightning

when a tree is struck by lightning
electricity will pass
from its tip to toe,
in the moist vessels
under its bark
split its bark outwards
in one loud crack
burn that which was wet
in the rings inside
the contour topography
of its years.

when a tree is struck by lightning
a purple-white flash will
find ground through its roots
kill it immediately
a tree, whole
within unstable seconds
but it will take years
for the decay to show
for a tree to become
rotten wood.

when a tree is struck by lightning
a temperature five times
hotter than the sun
shall shock it; this duration will be
nothing, in its large life
but enough amperes
to change it from an object of
biology
to an object of physics.

green leaves, will still live
after the thunderstorms
the flash fires
the electrocution, and the
communication from a cloud;
for a while.

things are not really understood
until the right metaphors arrive.
i have thought of many:
driftwood in a river,
snowflake and observer,
symbiosis and use,
but i have decided now.

i will pass through you
like lightning.

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angry

my grandmother used to spot in us a hereditary anger the chest learning to well up blood learning to leap and breath learning to crawl foreheads burning with heat of little children the attempt of anger to become disgusting raging energy that will occupy every living stream. nobody wants to hold an angry person rage drunk, getting bigger and bigger until other people are invisible like ants and you can dissolve them in your hot blood and things around you break and shatter at this point she would hold. a violent hand shaking her away Ya I remember my grandmother used to spot it in us as children already And hold our hand "until you get over your rage I will not let go of your hand"  hold VERY TIGHTLY "I will not leave your hand until you learn how you should calm down" i would fail despite that gesture  to understand what was happening and i could not receive love at that time because i have so much anger But the act she is doing is still that of HOLDING
“ this is the age of rampant computing and of quantitative mania and of  search algorithms running on GPUs looking for a person shaped piece missing dead perhaps? but with a digital trace. leave it to the hypertext of imagination ”