I am a hurricane, although inverse

I am a hurricane, although inverse,
an outer calm, yet violent inner eye,
a tempest in a woman's tiny purse.

I'm not like he who lies within the hearse,
as crowds wail 'round his lifeless, sewn-shut eye.
I am a hurricane, although inverse,

from reigned-in thin-lined lips so pursed,
pure chaos cloaked somehow in windless sky,
a tempest in a woman's tiny purse.

Oh, now and then, a word slips out so terse,
a flaming meteor screams through the sky,
for I'm a hurricane, although inverse.

I've long lived on despite this wretched curse,
had someone else owned it, they'd crave to die.
A tempest in a woman's tiny purse,

somehow has managed not to burst
out through and scorch humanity to die.
I am a hurricane, although inverse,
a tempest in a woman's tiny purse.

(C)2008, Christos Rigakos