I don’t remember ever seeing so much rain in California.
The great city of Los Angeles translates to the city of angels.
You can count the number of rainy days a year on two hands so
when I see so much water cut through the clouds
I can’t help but feel the tears of angels falling on my skin.


Recently my brain has been spinning in circles.
A needle scratching the surface to the melody of someone else’s face.
A phonograph that hasn’t turned on since the hopeless drunken nights
of butterflies trying to flutter through waterfalls.


Since then my heart has been handy
with the backs of a No. 2 pencils. Erasing the memory
of where this player’s off switch went.
I’m left with a familiar loop that feels like fine fleece cue tips
warming the inside of my ears,
wiping the very dust off my soul.


I'm taking the wheel of a mind and driving my madness to rainclouds.
Raindrops of today
filling the warm puddles of nostalgia for me to splash in once again.  
So don’t ask me how old I am today
since my stomach is tied in boy scouts knots
as I think of the cocoa-colored eyes of my boy scout’s crush.


Dancing under the tears of angels with butterflies dancing back.
Being smart is a skill I’m good at,
but being foolish is a faculty I’ve mastered.
So I dance one step forward and two step back, laughing
while slipping off the nostalgia.
Falling down on butterflies that have grown strong enough to pick me back up.


You can call me crazy,
but the rainclouds above me never seem to last.