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michael-sinclairePoems
What an umbrageous day Heavy downpour cleaning soul city streetlights unburdened back beckoned bright eye and high The cleansing of the spirit New rain beginnings relinquishing old dirt and washed all resentment that peels away like rotten orange rinds revealing the musty moth-eaten underside of the teenage psyche It’s a beacon of light, a point in the celestial wake of night The true-burning ember amidst the counterfeit glows of the day to day drudgery of a mundane Human existence Who cower and hide from head to toe in plastic wrap and duct their senses with sticky ignorance Who wander and wonder upon the multifaceted raindrop that caresses each fleshy pore with motherly love Who drift effortlessly up misty parking garages up sweaty chimney stacks down missing fire escapes In the tundra of weary dreary winter bite Cold suspects stand innocent on frozen street corner What an umbrageous day. Overcast. Raining. Like open wounds rinsed clean to be healed by and forgotten in time The fractals are hard to miss even in the gathering puddles [written about getting high. April 2010.]
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Mar 7, 2013
Mar 7, 2013 at 12:34 AM UTC
Umbragia
What an umbrageous day Heavy downpour cleaning soul city streetlights unburdened back beckoned bright eye and high The cleansing of the spirit New rain beginnings relinquishing old dirt and washed all resentment that peels away like rotten orange rinds revealing the musty moth-eaten underside of the teenage psyche It’s a beacon of light, a point in the celestial wake of night The true-burning ember amidst the counterfeit glows of the day to day drudgery of a mundane Human existence Who cower and hide from head to toe in plastic wrap and duct their senses with sticky ignorance Who wander and wonder upon the multifaceted raindrop that caresses each fleshy pore with motherly love Who drift effortlessly up misty parking garages up sweaty chimney stacks down missing fire escapes In the tundra of weary dreary winter bite Cold suspects stand innocent on frozen street corner What an umbrageous day. Overcast. Raining. Like open wounds rinsed clean to be healed by and forgotten in time The fractals are hard to miss even in the gathering puddles [written about getting high. April 2010.]
michael-sinclaire
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michael-sinclaire
Mar 7, 2013
Mar 7, 2013 at 12:34 AM UTC
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