Prison

there's long legs on the 5th floor
depending where you look,
no heat in the hallway
up the stairs, it's raining
outside, tho I can't seem to
remember how that feels, by that
I mean not just the silent drops,
gray colors, smells of wet pavement
cars splashing in the road,
but what it feel like on your skin
when you care, or don't care to
bother with it, when its some magical
thing and not a steadily moving force of
 pixelated colors on a map
on a screen on an image running through
fiber optic cables to eyes, synapes
brain, a nuisance or otherwise--this
is where the wipers come in--what
I'm trying to say, what I mean is
the rain has divorced itself from me,
I have lost it's earthiness, it's life,
there are walls and days gone by
there is this and only this
cool and dry.