Sunday, April 29, 2012

Notebook April 29, 2012

The rain dribbles down
the church roof next door
Making it look like liquid chrome
Gray metal in a gray light
That makes me think of tears
Everything is reflected in it
But muted, so that even
The scalding colors
Of the children’s playground
Loses luster
From this high up
And the always open window
With the always smoldering can
For cigarette butts
The world looks remote
no shades needed to keep out
unwanted eyes
too elevated for neighbors
to witness the love making
or the crying
even those dark hours
spent in contemplation
of self destruction
on the roof
But on days like these
When the rain flows
The whole building
Seems to melt,
Like one large
Brick-faced candle
Slowly expiring
The drip of slick liquid
Flowing down all sides
The culmination of a long struggle
And heated passion
Exploding with holy water
And the scream,
Not of children playin,
But a pleasure and pain,
All shimmering on the surface
As if the building itself sweated
From the touch of it
Something always shifting
Something always dying
Something always going away,
Rain dripping always in the wake
Without satisfaction.

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