and in the morning

and in the morning. pic

 

I sit playing at words and looking

for their ruined meanings while

above me rain detaches itself from the moods

that are clouds that linger in doom

and laugh as they get lighter and pull away

to a heaven that smiles on the other side of the world

and upside down other people find congress

in immaculate thoughts just like mine

though all of it is, of course, unknowable

and that sussurating sound of damp pellets on glass

is soothing and somehow washes away

the stain of grief – that echo

that seems to last, cloying like a partner in a sensual dance

guiding me with soft fingers into vice

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