Raining Frogs

I don’t know much about frogs.
Water born with gills, cold blood, moist skin.
Compromise from fish to lizard.
Squishy science project redolent of formaldehyde.
I am not so simple.
Surging ahead of time with a plan.
More Earth than Water.  More Air than Earth.
My mind’s in the stars; see me waving from
constellations, from outside.
Solemn petals float on deep roots of imagination.
Totem tales inspire awe — gaping chasms.
We know we will fall, always, forever.
Sacrifice, the price for salvation — no wise One would
love us, sad, ugly, cruel.  Shriveled sacks of DNA,
crawl to slaughter.  Daughters of destiny weep
even without knowing why.  None dare question.
It is given.  It is taken.
Today it is raining frogs.
Vast dark plops from Heaven’s
lotus ponds.
Cracking bones, gushing blood,
revel in mortality.
Wiping new born guts from my vision,
I marvel.  A gaping cavern opens in
my mind.  It is clear, my plans must change.
The life I wrote them for buried in amphibious waste.

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