constant revolution, kilometers-per-hour

[ideo_graphic]

Stop! No! I Cannot Stop!

Hello Mr. Hurricane,
where are you
headed to right now?

You mess
with their hair and turn
their umbrellas inside out,

but you don't even know them.

The trails you leave are littered
with random pieces of life scattered all over.

Hello Mr. Hurricane,
do you even know what you're doing?

You spin around, it seems like you have
everything planned out in your
constant revolution, kilometers-per-hour,

but really, you don't even know
when to stop.

Or how.

You just pick up strangers,
lamp posts and garbage
that are weak enough to be carried away

until a wall, an open field
puts an end to your cyclone;

You disappear,
and everything else is let go,
falls to the ground.

A pile of aftermath.