dissolves soon as it hits the sidewalk. A streak of saline on the window runs down as the wind blows. A river
of teardrops make a water bed. As night passes the baton the river turns red. Red as the African sunset. Fast and low
as a Chevy Corvette. Weeping as a willow. The stain on the pillow is the shape of a butterfly. If only it fly off taking with it
the rain, the crystal fountain of pain. In the day it is squeezed into cubes and freezes as bones on the *****. Only taken out again in the hands of drinking men.