Wednesday, January 11, 2017

writing in rain

there, across the keys
bobbing up and down

on waves

monosyllabic, mute       saints
knuckles cracking, bones snapping
strung along about the endless white

a long march of nothing

thoughts about death

but I will not die today, in the rain
as it tumbles down yet          unseen

I'm ready to let dry

clothes, fingers, the day     the night

where goes the wind in mountains unseen

and the rain distorts the screen
floods the page.

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