Climate Beats no.1

I find that there is another world and that there is a curtain that separates us from that world like the leaves of brown and gold and red and yellow that twirl down my street as I stare out the window on Sunday mornings contemplating over coffee steaming grown on the slopes of Guatemala Indonesia Ethiopia taking water and sun and heat and hands and backs and people with leathered skin running up and down mountain sides like goats leaping over clouds .. clouds forming in towers and building cirrus white marshmallow angels feather pillow puffs of wind coagulated and solidified, towering particle ice steaming into the sky an extraction of the poles that thin thin thin and run run run away from the South to the ever decreasing circle of the North a Poincare conjecture of changing weather as the snow falls inward an introspective fluttering of delineated lassos reflective and regressing to infinitely small points fleeing the support offered for millenia to ghost bears which fall and swim and tire and drown and float, whitenowgreynowbonewhiteagain leaves, rapidly disappearing, their spirits rising in screaming agony in the swirls of coffee vapour that cloud my face and dead eyes with the fire of blame and sorrow drip back into the coffee oils colouring green rainbows over the brownblackcoffeesurfacemirror where they melt with no one's tears to cool their heat back into the evaporating diamond storm, where a slight hushed unguarded breath butterflies forth twirling and twisting in straitjacketed fits and parodies annihilated through open windows letting in the long late heat of autumn evenings.