April 30, 2017

The rain forgot how to fall today
And slid instead down your mother’s cheek
When she woke you with a song
Last night, humanity exploded in a poem
Or at least, regained it’s composure, adjusting
Sleeves, smoothing hair
Erupting in in verses from the mouth of a 17 year old boy
You believe he wants to be a poet when he grows up
But really he just wants to be a poem

You live in a duplex made of brown brick dreams and late night cigarette
Smoke wriggling through the too-tight sky
Waiting for the girl with the rainbow license plate
Who buys thunderstorms from the man on the corner
Or maybe she’s waiting for you
To answer the door, nose pressed up against the glass
Last night, you were home, shedding isolation
Gathering yourself in
While she was watching the world unfold
On a stage with red curtains and a song
And later, a phone call
“I love you more” you said

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