The rain like rubber bullets on brittle glass.
Everything is broken up in the light
and hissing
slithers serpent like
to the city's sunken sewer.
All the ticks of this season fade together.
One drop at a time
the air is cleaned
and the memories we find in it
have all washed away.
The rainbows of oil slick streets
run pitted up rolling hills
and I found my *** of gold:
all those moments of memory
under the pines dripping gin stink serenade.
I swam in the streams that trickled down your lips
the hum of heaving skies
blocked out the world
leaving only our warmth
as salvation.