on this Gothic

Sunday, rain's in

citywide confession.

deep ears listen...

some of these raindrops

explode midair, or never

hit the ground.

as on shadowy snuffs of

street, crows lay on their

back.

wings enfolded like hands

in an open coffin...feet stretched

out.

beak deformedly agape,

drinking...gelatinous eyes beating

beneath their lids.