Wednesday, October 16, 2013


Rain drops paint a
Window like a tear
Drop does a cheek
They cloud my point
Of view distort my
Right of way sitting
In this room marking
Time on blank sheets
Of paper once were
Tall trees stripped
Of anonymity bereft
Of a life swept up on
A saw dusted floor
Nothing comes of
Nothing sacrificed
On a querulous altar
Held together with
Wax & words slightly
Scented with sweat
& decay ‘cause old
Keeps getting older
& the news is never
Good just another
Day in the rain with
Out an umbrella &
A pen that’s lost
All its ink standing
On a corner trying
To write my way
Home while cars
Splash puddles
Of yesterday’s


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