Friday, May 22, 2009

wet n dry

the rain is beating at my window
beaten around like eggs
lashing about like a washing machine whirlpool
escalating in its stormy fervour
enforced and projected

upon the sad heads of walkers buy
strolling out of their drab little rooms
orifices
places of monetary see-saw
and dead-day time worship

it pauses
it starts again
at full power
i'm drenched just hearing its furrowed roar
beating against these old fall-off windows
of an add-on verandah
as i read a memoir called dry
by a mister a.b.
it has to do with a young man's struggle with his demons
externally it's the bottle
and i'm compelled and fascinated to read of this journey
my old man loved the glass
and the amber fluid that filled it
6 a day sir
so for now i stay dry
and warm
feeling so incredibly wet
inside
as i watch the rain swirl in bullet circles
pensive
outside my window
where the whitewash is coming
and nothing else matters

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