morning
offers another gray-faced
shrug
morning
offers another gray-faced
shrug
“It’s about,” they say,
“pretending you are not
pretending”
and every other
animal wearing leashes
now invisible
roiling squall—voice
somewhere between shouting
and weeping
clouds smudged
at the horizon—leaves nod
to a breath of wind
my heart—
beating the rhythm
you know
when the sky
becomes dim enough—shadows
absorb us
though
my mind is still
seventeen
there must be
or have been rain—you see
everything darker
you hear bass
before the car passes—then
treble whimpering