What an umbrageous day
Heavy downpour cleaning soul city streetlights
unburdened back beckoned bright eye and high
The cleansing of the spirit

New rain beginnings
relinquishing old dirt and washed
all resentment that peels away like rotten orange rinds
revealing the musty moth-eaten underside of the teenage psyche

It’s a beacon of light, a point in the celestial wake of night
The true-burning ember amidst the counterfeit
glows of the day to day drudgery of a mundane
Human existence

Who cower and hide from head to toe in plastic wrap
and duct their senses with sticky ignorance
Who wander and wonder upon the multifaceted
raindrop that caresses each fleshy pore with motherly love

Who drift effortlessly
up misty parking garages
up sweaty chimney stacks
down missing fire escapes

In the tundra of weary dreary winter bite
Cold suspects stand innocent on frozen street corner

What an umbrageous day. Overcast. Raining.
Like open wounds rinsed clean to be healed by
and forgotten in time

The fractals are hard to miss
even in the gathering puddles

[written about getting high. April 2010.]