perched on the curb
like a pigeon
on a telephone wire
clutching a cigarette
watching
the remnants of the rain
wash down the gutter
there's nothing like
that post rain morning
with the air
heavy and thick
a weeping sunrise
peeks through
scattered showers
and thunderstorms
those early mornings
like noah
after the flood
the world seems
wet
and new
clean
simple innocent
until the people wake up
and the illusions fade
into that nine to five reality
with their car horns
and scattered conversation
dont know what they missed
what they ruined
sighing
i walk back inside
away from a world left wanting