how do I yield?
how do I serpentine,
unwind and reel through
the numbing ungeant urgency of
the unreal?
the gap between dim rain and sane stillness -
the gap between listening to one's body
and biased interpretation -
what do I feel and
how do I stand to watch marching bands
tissue flower coated floats
plastic smiles that gorge on mediocrity
pretty limp wrists turning in waves
of insincerity while a point in space
below and behind my rib cage
is doubled in on itself and weeping
did the rain turn the dust to mud or did the dust turn the rain
to mud
?
the shower pulled oil up from the asphalt
confetti catching in the spill,
later swept in rush clean up to
street edges and gutters
post downpour -
dyes bled out
dried there
forgotten
one girl was struck by lighetening
a witness noted her barretts started glowing moments before the hit
as if batons and crepe paper could manufacture
happiness
as if the rainstorm itself
wouldn't have been enough
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