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Rain Drop
In this instance of mine,
there are no windows.
Still I feel the sun outside,
radiating chemical consequence.
In this space of mine,
things are the same.
Still a change is flicking in the corner
like movements of an insect's limbs.
In this life of mine,
pain is floating,
an untouchable acid-cloud
raining...
In this brain of mine,
beauty is trapped,
killing itself with people,
those little sexy termites.
They can carry stones,
three times their own size,
but not each other.
It's all just plastic,
covering the emptiness.
But it breaks through,
and stretches into who we are.
Time never returns to us;
we don't deserve it.
We just float around,
raining... |
