There’s God in this rain.
And he’s washing out the colors.
There’s a Greyness, worth noting,
That steals your spirit through your eyes.
There are cigarettes in the amp.
I’m home.
There’s a blur, surrounding the line
Between the edges of him,
And where they meet everything else.
His arms flailing, brain on fire,
Jamming to the song,
With just the drums around him.
She’s broken, but a non-believer.
The bane of her existence being that
She’s bearing existence, but she’s still
Smoking union butts
She had no intention of
Signing up to receive.
I find myself longing for
Fall’s warmer whispers.
Too dried out, I’m
Sweating through all my
Summer shirts.
We stood stateside to ******,
Saddened and somber but still
Awake, tailed by cops that were
Bored, and our parents. I remember
He wore red a lot that year.
It was all that would hide the blood stains, on his sleeves,
From where he’d stitched his heart.
Looking through cabinets to
Find old winter hats,
And auburn-stained reminders,
Of past seasons
You’d loved and lost.
And the drives to
Second states, for
Finding friends in unfamiliar
Circumstances, when the air
In your face is cold enough to chill,
But bitterly addicting.
And divines have prepped their
Snowy canvas, blowing the
Corpses of the crops
To the floor of their woody settings.
A fresh start for all of us God-likes,
To crunch leaves under our
Brand new boots.
And he’s got his records, and
Some books to go with them,
And a drawing from a bus ride that
Took longer than he’d planned for.
And he can’t wait to show it to everyone, and
Embellish the story it told him.
She’s got her thumb out, somewhere.
Praying for a chance to write the Bible down
On the inside of a Buick.
She hasn’t loved her mother in weeks.
She and I don’t talk much anymore.
But I’m praying too, to the
Gods I keep. And spending each Sunday
Still, all-set for snow.
So bask in the glow of your cell phone light.
Dance to the unrepeatable beat in your head.
Tread lightly where the ice is thinner,
But fear not for lack of hands
To pull you back up should you fall through.
The Greyness shall not claim us all.
I re-read that and almost cried.
Every stanza came from an honest place.
Some of them are specific to certain people.
The Greyness is the super-villain of my poems. It comes back a lot.
