and only with the dump grey skies of england
do i sit on the windowsill
perched like a crow on a rooftop
drinking whiskey trying to find a chris rea c.d.,
although picking out a tom waits’ glitter & doom
i find myself reminding myself
how i waltzed the empty streets listening to live circus
at night,
but with the dump grey skies brimful with rain
i stretch out from the window with a cigarette
and catch tears on the sunglasses i’m wearing,
because even though it’s grey and gentle trickle rainy
it’s too much for my envious green eyes to look at,
so i stretched out in this stratosphere of angry gravity
and took the raindrops as tears onto the shades of hades
with laughter and glee
that might have reminded me of sardined clowns and elephant acrobatics,
as this moment already did.